


Touched

by Unforth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Adopted Children, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Background Jo Harvelle/Sam Winchester, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Case Fic, Comfortably Bisexual Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Dean Winchester Has Trust Issues, Demon Blood Addict Sam Winchester, Demon Blood Addiction, Djinn Castiel, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Consent, Felching, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, Gentle Sex, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Hunter Castiel, Hunter Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Interspecies Romance, Interspecies Sex, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Knotting, M/M, NaNoWriMo, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overstimulation, Past Character Death, Permanent Injury, Praise Kink, Rimming, Sex with Sentient Animals, Skinwalker Dean Winchester, Skinwalker Jack Kline, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean Winchester, Tongue Fucking, Touch-Starved Dean Winchester, Unrealistic Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-08-14 08:29:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 66,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16489172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforth/pseuds/Unforth
Summary: It's been more than ten years since a hunt gone wrong left teenaged Dean disowned, abandoned, alone...and a skinwalker. Now, he wanders the country, refusing to change back to his human form, refusing to join a pack, refusing to turn others into monsters like himself. Sometimes, when he's lucky, he'll find a place to stay with some sappy, dog-loving human - a month or two, here or there, when he has a full stomach and a roof over his head, but not a home, never a home.Today's sappy, dog loving human? Some tattooed, jogging weirdo who says his name is Cas...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Long time no post. Since my mom left in September it's been basically impossible for me to find the time to write, and I've made several false starts on things but haven't gotten much of anywhere. But my nugget is over 8 months old now and getting more independent, and the potato is inching up on 3, and dammit I have beaten NaNoWriMo 4 years running and I'm at least gonna *try* to get it done this year.
> 
> I've been playing with this story in my head for the last month. Obviously I'll be adding more tags, and probably more characters, but I think the ones provided cover the big ones. I doubt this will actually be 50k words - I'd be surprised if it's half that - but if I can finish this it'll be a good start at least. My plan is to aim to write at least one scene a day, and to post at least one scene a day, so if nothing goes cockeyed this story will get updated every day until it's finished. Some of those scenes will be pretty short though.
> 
> Note that I get very little time at computers, and I have to focus what I've got on modding the challenges I help run, writing, and editing. Which is to say, I'm flat out not able to answer comments at this time, and I'm really sorry about that. I read and appreciate every single one, though, and I could really use the support cause I've been down in the dumps about what a piece of garbage I am that I haven't been writing.
> 
> So wish me luck, and if you feel like pulling out some pom poms and cheering me on, that'd be much appreciated.

“Hello, dog.”

Wary, Dean froze. In the darkness, he could only make out the outline of a tall man. Cold wind stung the sensitive membrane of his nose, carrying with it a spicy scent that even after years as a dog, Dean had to concentrate to identify and differentiate. 

Smoke, honey, tomato, vinegar, lemon, chili…

...fucking  _ barbecue  _ sauce.

Hot.

_ Like when I camped out behind the garbage dump at a Rudy's. Ate like a damn king until those asshole employees ran me off.. _

His stomach rumbled, a harsh reminder of how long it had been since he'd eaten like a king...how long it had been since he'd eaten  _ anything  _ but scrawny squirrels and nameless half-rotten filth.

Any dude who smelled that good couldn’t be all bad, right?

Dean had been fooled by people who smelled alluring before, though, and he’d be more damned than he already was before he’d make the same mistake again. Far down the road, a floodlight mounted on a building made a pool of light, flattened to dewy silver by the thick fog and Dean’s shit-ass visual acuity. Dean loped toward it without acknowledging Barbecue Sauce, ears attuned to the soft whump of following footsteps. Once upon a time he'd have been surprised and suspicious that anyone would bother to pursue him - he was just some stray dog, probably flea-ridden and mangy and stinking. Joke was on him, though - he'd vastly underestimated just how far some idiots would go to pet a strange stray dog, even one encountered on a deserted road in the middle of the night.

Come to think of it, Dean had seen Sam go goo-goo eyed over dogs a damn sight uglier than Dean.

_ Don’t think about Sammy, for fuck’s sake. The past is the past. _

Maybe Barbecue Sauce really liked dogs.

Or maybe dude was a Hunter come to kill him.

Either way, Dean wanted to see what the fuck he was dealing with.

The man’s chuckle clattered strangely in the dank air when Dean stopped in the center of the circle of light, dropped to sit on his haunches and stared, tongue lolling from the side of his mouth. If barbecue sauce was a Hunter, he’d stick to the shadows, try to stalk Dean, attempt to be quiet, and…

...and barbecue sauce strode confidently onto the glowing pavement and dropped to a squat a few feet away, holding out a hand for Dean to sniff.

“Do you have a collar, dog?”

Dude was fucking  _ weird _ . Black linework tattoos stood out stark against his skin, swirls curling around his ears and down his neck to disappear beneath the collar of his jacket. They were the only thing solid, the only thing constant, to the man’s appearance; his features were blurred, eyes gleaming dully, skin a grayish-tan. Not because he was supernatural, fuck no, but because Dean couldn’t see for shit. He’d been bitter about that for a long time, but he’d eventually learned to use his senses of smell and hearing for what his eyes couldn’t tell him. 

With proximity, Barbecue Sauce’s scent unfolded into a panoply. Without shifting to scent the fingers offered toward him, Dean could smell the salad the man had eaten recently, smell that he’d had some indigestion related to something spicy he’d consumed, smell the cotton and rayon and spandex that his clothing was made from, smell the mud and rotten leaves and bird shit he’d stepped through, smell the sweat soaking him from the run that Dean had interrupted with their unexpected encounter. Through scent, Barbecue Sauce’s history was presented to Dean such as vision couldn’t replicate. Made him feel like fuckin’ Sherlock Holmes or some shit. Unusually, the barbecue scent seemed to be  _ him _ , not merely something he’d eaten, not that the smell was strong enough that another human would get more than a whiff. Bizarre, too, that it hadn’t seemed to attract any other animals - Dean could smell deer in the near distance, birds, mice, the usual array of fauna native to the Illinois wilderness, the trace of a coyote who’d passed by maybe two hours before, but none seemed curious about the dumbass wandering through the midst smelling like slow cooked ribs.

Their loss.

Barbecue Sauce turned his hand to offer his palm toward Dean and Dean deigned to pretend interest, leaning forward, twitching his nose, glancing a single lick over the back of his hand. The salty tang of sweat and the musky scent of the forest floor overwhelmed the tangy sauce aroma and…

...yeah. Dean was a fan.

“May I check your tags, dog?”

And what the fuck was up with the guy calling him  _ dog _ ? Who did that? No one. People always called him  _ boy _ , and he hated it, reminding him of his fuckin’ dad ragging on him. 

_ Who’s a good boy? Come on, boy, come on! Fetch, boy! Look out for your brother, boy, or there’ll be hell to pay. Sit, boy! Can’t believe you let yourself get bit, boy, shoulda known even I couldn’t train you to do fuck all that was worth a damn. Boy, you’d better-- _

Fingers threaded through the thick fur of Dean’s neck. He wore no collar, had no tags - no one  _ owned  _ him, though dad had violently, loudly  _ disowned  _ him once upon a time. The moment he thought some human might actually try to adopt him Dean skeddadled like whoa. Dean neither wanted nor needed a family or a home. Most skinwalkers had a pack, but Dean had killed those in the pack that had turned him, and been a lone wolf ever since. Tough. Brash. Confident. Skilled. He needed nothing and no one but himself and the open road and...

...his stomach rumbled…

...okay, sure, he didn’t  _ need  _ anything, but his Lone Wolf routine felt a lot less shitty when he wasn’t starving and frozen. A good meal and a roof over his head for the frosty night - he smelled snow in the air, fuck it all - would be  _ awesome _ .

The man released his neck with a gentle pat to his head that flopped Dean’s ears around.

“You’re a good dog. Why don’t you come home with me, and we’ll see about getting you warmed up? Maybe some food in that belly?”

It was like Barbecue Sauce could read Dean’s damn mind.

Fuck that. Dude reeked of humanity. But he wasn’t deaf, he could hear the embarrassingly loud burble of Dean’s hunger, and now that he wasn’t booking it over country roads Barbecue Sauce must feel the chill on his bared arms and legs. 

“My name’s Cas.”

_ Nice to meet you, Cas. Dean’s the name. _

“It’s nice to meet you, Dog.”

Or that.

Fucktons better than some of the names he’d given by his temporary caretakers.

Barbecue sauce...Cas...rose and strode away, pausing at the edge of the darkness, shimmering like a wraith save where tattoos limned his limbs.

“I’ll be finishing my run now. You’re welcome to join me.”

Fucking. Awesome.

With a single nod, Dean rose and followed.

“Very good, dog.”

It was always nice when he found a good human. 

As long as Dean didn’t get too attached.

As long as Dean hadn’t misjudged. Again.

Cas picked up speed, and Dean paced him.

Everything would be fine. At the first sign of trouble, he could always cut and run.

“Try to keep up!”

As if Cas could  _ possibly  _ outrun Dean, in a sprint or over distance.

And damn did he smell good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More (hopefully) tomorrow!
> 
> Oh, and so I had thought dogs had good eyesight? They so so don't. I found this nifty website that'll convert a regular photograph into "dog vision" and when I put Cas/Misha in there? It's so so sad.
> 
> [Here's the website](https://dog-vision.com/) if you want to try it yourself.


	2. Chapter 2

Panting out misty clouds into the darkness, Cas’ only acknowledgement of Dean upon arrival at a small suburban house was to hold the door open. Darkness cloaked the home’s interior, but new smells sketched the layout for him - polished wood floors, area rugs infested with dust mites, a living room to his right, a kitchen to his left, a waft of fresh air moving downward across his nose suggested a staircase before them, leading to the second floor. Familiar with the space, Cas moved forward confidently, flicking off his porch light, closing and locking the door, crossing a room before turning on the kitchen light. Dean followed tentatively, toe nails clicking on the wood floor of a long hallway, then on the tiles of a tidy kitchen. The scents of recent meals and scattered crumbs tempted Dean to sniff around and lick up every morsel, but he forced himself to wait. Some families were open to a dog, well, behaving like a dog, but too many others had punished him for licking the floor, jumping on the couch, walking on the carpets...one asshole had even beaten him bloody over a piss spot that had been the cat’s fault. Most humans didn’t turn to violence, but even a raised voice was more bullshit than he wanted to deal with.

Though, in the current case...Dean would tolerate a lot if it meant three square for a few days.

Lingering awkwardly in the doorway, tail tucked nervous between his hind legs, Dean watched Cas slump over to the sink, fill a cup, chug the contents, and push sweaty dark hair from his cheeks and forehead. The counters were scattered with signs of day-to-day use - a bowl of fresh fruit (and one rotten), a jar of cooking utensils, a dirty pot that wafted cooked egg scent around the spotted stove top, and much more. Faux wood cabinets smelled of plastic that couldn’t mask hints of the contents; the one behind Cas smelled so strongly of spices that Dean’s nose stung when he inhaled the air from that direction.

Ignoring Dean, Cas pulled the fridge open and so many tempting aromas burst outward that Dean whimpered. The barbecue scent tinged sour - pheromones reacting to Cas’ shifting moods, suggesting worry or uncertainty, Dean thought - and Cas turned to him.

“Right,” he muttered, letting the fridge close once more. “Thirsty?” Dean whimpered again. Cas pulled a bowl from the drain board, filled it from the sink, and set it down. One wary step at a time, Dean crossed the room, but Cas was in his own world again, back at the fridge; Dean surreptitiously licked a spot of tomato sauce from the floor, then carefully lapped at the water. It was tough not to splash - his tongue was long, his mouth awkward for drinking neatly - but since the time he’d been chased from a home by an old bitch with a broom because he splattered her braided rug, he was careful. Sounds behind him suggested Cas moving around, opening the fridge again...and going still.

Dean froze, water dripping from his short hairs of his chin.

A burst of laughter startled Dean so badly he yelped -  _ no, fuckin’ puppies yelp, that was a manly bark of alarm!  _ \- and skittered around to stare at his host. Cas went slient, blinked at him, and then broke out in uproarious gales, so amused by...something...by  _ Dean _ ?...that he doubled over, clutching the refrigerator handle to keep his balance. Offended,Dean slunk defensively into a corner of the room, back to the counters that stood scarce higher than his back, but snug against a solid wall, tail up against his belly. Cas gasped and snorted trying to catch his breath, cough, and laughed even harder.

It was a nice sound. Friendly, welcoming, open,  _ shared _ ...or so Dean thought. 

But he’d been wrong before.

Fucking hell, he shouldn’t have followed Cas home. 

When would he learn?

_ \--can’t teach you a damn thing, boy. No matter how many times we go over something, the lesson doesn’t take. Fuckin’ useless, lazy, ugly as a mutt, dumb as a brick, only thing you’re good for is-- _

“You should…” Cas’ gasped, broken words pulled Dean back to the present, the warm kitchen and the smell of food and barbecue sauce and Cas’ huge, toothy grin. “You should  _ see  _ yourself! Dog, I don’t bite - and I don’t think you bite, either! I invited you in! Make yourself at home. Drink all the water you want. Splash all over my messy floor. Bonus, if you lick up the rest of my crumbs, I won’t have to sweep or mop. That’s a win as far as I’m concerned. Make yourself at home, and I’ll cook dinner.”

Tension drained from Dean with a single explosive exhale. Rising, he  _ click-clacked _ across the room, tail swinging out to wag with restrained enthusiasm. Cas held a hand out to him again, still chuckling, and Dean made a show of sniffing it - he scented nothing new, but humans were shit at reading dog behavior, and the sniffing usually convinced people that Dean was being friendly. 

Actually, Cas’ sweat smelled pretty good - his barbecue sauce scent, but salty and musky.

Dean lapped at his moist palm.

Cas’ throaty laughed turned to giggles. “Sto...stop! That tickles!” 

Dropping to a sit, Dean grinned, tongue out, tail thumping on the floor.

_ No, it’s too soon to be this open, this enthusiastic, I should-- _

“Good Dog,” Cas said, ruffling his ears, and returning to the fridge.

Cas didn’t even wipe his hand, much less wash off the licks.

Okay, yeah, Cas was  _ definitely  _ Dean’s kind of human.

With shocking speed, they settled into...not a routine, because that implied regularity impossible after only a couple hours of acquaintance, but into comfortable coexistence that Dean suspected would become routine within days, if Cas didn’t give him the boot and if Dean didn’t bail like he should. As Dean sniffed around the floor, licking up spill spots and bits of food, Cas weaved around him, preparing ingredients. The tidbits told a story of Cas’ preferences - pasta and granola, bread and cheese, splashes of fruit juice and bitter coffee and beer. Dinner smelled like a fuckin’  _ miracle _ , beef browning in a skillet as Cas shook spices into it without measuring. Traces of paprika and pepper and garlic drifted to the floor before the stove, and Dean gathered them up as soon as Cas shifted to the sink to fill a pot with water.

“I’m thinking pasta bolognese,” Cas monologued as he worked, “it’s not Purina but I wasn’t expecting company for dinner, and I gotta get my calories in after that run. You do too.” Cas wheeled on him, waggling a finger in a mock-stern reprimand. “Do you know how far we ran?”

_ We were running for about an hour, and you’re one fast motherfucker, so I’d say eight or nine miles, plus however the fuck more you did before I got out there.  _

“Maybe you do at that,” said Cas thoughtfully, setting the pot to boil. “You probably cover more distance than I do regularly. And what do I know about how dogs measure distance?” There was a  _ pop  _ as Cas used a fork to open a plastic container of fresh pasta and the musty smell of mold assaulted Dean’s nose. He snorted out a discouraging noise. “I know, fresh pasta is an indulgence, but I can afford it…” Dean shook his head, ears slapping his neck, and snorted again. Cas went still, container of pasta held over the pot, and his expression went flat.

_ Shit, pushed it too far. I’m being an idiot. Can’t let him know I understand. Can’t risk him or anyone finding out I’m anything other than a dog. Besides, humans  _ never  _ understand when I try to tell them their food is spoiled. It’s a waste of fucking time. _

“What’s wrong?” asked Cas.

_ Time to put on a show. _

Dean hoisted a hind leg and scratched at his dirty stomach, shaking his head again.

_ It’s nothing. Just the fleas. I’m just a dog. Nothing to see here. _

“None of that, now...I’m not an idiot, Dog...you were trying to warn me about something…”

Itching that spot actually felt crazy good. Dean wiggled his butt down to scratch himself more aggressively. Oh yeah, ohhh yeah, that was the spot, and--

“Mold.”

Dean went still mid-itch.

Right. He was weirding out a human and getting kicked out of another house. He had more important things to do than groom himself.

Cas held the container of pasta in his hands, looking between it and Dean with wonder. From this angle, the dark splotches on the pale pasta were obvious even to Dean. 

“You were trying to warn me that the food was spoiled.”

Way to fuck everything up  _ again _ , without even getting a single meal out of it.

Cas tugged open the cabinet beneath the sink to reveal a pungent garbage can and chucked the entire container.

“Thank you.”

Whoa, whoa, wait...he sounded  _ sincere _ . 

Nodding to himself, Cas returned to the fridge and pulled out another box of pasta and held the packaging out toward Dean. “Good?” he asked. Dean approached, sniffed, and relaxed to show his approval. It smelled  _ great _ . “Excellent.” And Cas opened the pasta and added it to the pot to cook. “Nothing else gets eaten unless it passes the Dog sniff test. Sound like a plan?” 

Dean quirked his head to the side and gave Cas a stink eye, earning another pleased laugh. The barbecue sauce smell thickened, grew even more delicious, combined with the smell of cooking meat and pasta to make Dean ravenous. Cas kept up a running commentary as he finished preparing the meal, simmering the beef in sauce, then adding the pasta and tossing them together.

“Be careful, it’s hot,” Cas admonished as he set a steaming plate down before Dean. As Dean waited impatiently for it to cool, he watched Cas prepare his own serving, get himself a drink, and sit down at the small kitchen table, tucked into a corner and with only seating enough for one. Throughout, Cas shot Dean inexplicable glances, watching Dean watching him. Not until Cas took a bite of his did Dean tentative lick his pasta.

Holy shit, it was  _ good _ .

“This is ridiculous!” 

Cas’ exclamation startled Dean and he skipped back from the dish, alert, afraid. He was only on his guard for a moment, though; as he watched, astonished, Cas jumped to his feet, picked up his food, took a couple steps toward Dean, and dropped down cross-legged on the floor beside him. His bowl clattered on the tile floor.

“Much better,” said Cas with a sigh. Dean could only blink at him. “Sorry, I don’t host often. Not used to having company. This way, we can eat together!”

Every time Dean thought Cas couldn’t get weirder, he did shit like  _ sit on the floor with Dean _ . Dean should leave, get out of dodge while the getting was good.

“Anyway, as I was saying…”

Cas’ voice washed over Dean, lulling him with his rich tone. This close, Dean could make out Cas’ features more clearly - sweaty locks of hair curled at the ends, expression animated, eyes twinkling. There wasn’t a hint of maliciousness in his tone, not a sign of wicked intention in his scent.

“Maybe I should go and get some Iams or something,” sighed Cas, scent shifting to worry. “What was I thinking, bringing a dog home when I haven’t got any of the things I’d need to care for one? I don’t even have a leash. And now I’m feeding you spaghetti. This was a bad idea.” Sadness layered on the worry, turning the barbecue sauce sour once more. All because Dean wasn’t eating the fucking  _ feast  _ that Cas had shared with him.

Dean couldn’t believe Cas meant him harm. 

That kinda trusting bullshit was what got Dean bitten in the first place.

Whelp, why only make the same mistake once or twice when he could instead make it a half-dozen times and really get himself thoroughly fucked?

He  _ liked _ Cas.

Reaching out a paw, he pet reassuringly at Cas’ knee, met Cas’ eyes, and then deliberately bent and ate a mouthful of amazing food.

Cas smiled.

Dean took another bite, and another.

“Oh, good...guess it was alright after all. Maybe it was just too hot? As long as I’m not hurting you.”

Cas didn’t resume his story. They ate in companionable silence, Cas’ fork clanking on his plate, Dean’s jaw knocking against the lip of his owl as he devoured his food. When Cas was done, he set dishes before Dean and watched with satisfaction as Dean licked up every speck of tomato sauce.

“Now...what do you say for a bath?”

Incredulous, Dean trailed Cas to a bathroom, and followed Cas gestured instructions that he get in the tub. It was a struggle not to make it stupidly obvious that Dean understood every word he said. Cas soaked his gross fur, doused him in soap and shampoo. Months of dirt and dead, tangled hair sluiced down the drain. The conviction grew again that Dean should leave - this was too much kindness, too much impossible care being paid to his sorry, mangy ass - but he didn’t  _ want  _ to leave. Only when the water ran clear from Dean’s fur did Cas stop, towel him off, and then…

“I’m sorry, but I’ll have to leave you alone for a while. I need to take a shower, too.”

Cas. fucking.  _ apologized _ . to. him.

Because Cas was going to take a fricken  _ shower _ .

How was this even real? Dean had probably gotten hit by a car or some shit, and now he was dying in a ditch, having some bizarre-ass fever dream in the last few minutes before he bled out.

There were worse ways to go.

After his shower, Cas changed into his pajamas, turned down the blankets, switched off the light, and got into bed.

The house had multiple nice places for Dean to lie down - in front of the heaters, atop the area rugs, but instead Dean sat and watched the deep shadows of Cas’ room, the outline of bed and dresser and man still visible.

“Well, Dog?” Cas’ voice cut through the night. “Are you coming?”  _ Fwump, fwump, fwump _ went the bedding as Cas patted beside himself in invitation for Dean to join him.

Fuck weird, Cas was completely fricken insane, bringing a strange dog into his home, feeding him, cleaning him,  _ inviting him into bed _ . Maybe Cas was a Hunter trying to dupe him, or a monster out for prey with Dean as his latest victim.

If either was the case, surely Dean would smell  _ something _ . All he scented was barbecue sauce and fabric softener and the mango soap that Cas had used on both of them and the finisher in the carpet and, well, he smelled a shit-ton of things, most irrelevant, but nothing that suggested “crazed axe murderer” or “rightwing nut job planning to shoot up the place” or even “experienced Hunter who knows a fucking skinwalker when he sees one.”

“It’s up to you,” said Cas gently.

Cas was just a dude. A really nice, friendly, dog-loving doofus of a dude.

Dean already liked him better than any other human who’d ever given him temporary sanctuary.

Quelling his concerns, Dean leapt onto the bed with a single bound.

The mattress was firm, the blankets soft, the air warm, and as he curled up, Dean didn’t think he’d been so comfortable anywhere since his dad had given him the boot. 

A hand landed on Dean’s head, pet down his neck, nestled in the thick, still-damp fur of his neck.

“Good night, Dog.”

Even the small voice insisting that there was something truly fucked going on couldn’t keep him from slipping into a deep, blissful, perfect sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

“It’s breakfast time, Dog.”

“I have to go to work, Dog.”

“Any requests for groceries while I’m out shopping, Dog?”

“See you later, Dog.”

“You didn’t warn me this banana was spoiled, Dog!”

“Care to join me on my jog, Dog?”

Just that easy, Dean became part of Cas’ life. The first few days had their awkward moments - especially when Cas returned from work reeking of blood and flesh and feces and asphalt and set Dean’s hackles up, but despite indicators otherwise, the reason proved innocuous enough. Cas was an EMT, and he always came home disgusting with sweat and fatigue and bodily fluids. Once they both grew accustomed to the rhythm of co-existence, they were comfortable. Every morning they shared bacon and eggs, Cas sitting on the floor and chatting Dean up, interpreting Dean’s masquerade of random body language as replies and questions and interjections. Three days a week Cas left for work shifts ranging from 12 hours to 24 hours long. He put out a heaping bowl of food for Dean - sometimes kibble, sometimes not - and left the back door open for when Dean needed to take a leak in the unfenced yard, trusting Dean to keep out intruders, making it clear that Dean was under no obligation to stay. He always returned stinking and exhausted, took a long, scalding shower, and collapsed into bed. The other days, Cas lounged around the house watching TV, or tried to teach Dean to play Sorry, or hiked through the wilderness surrounding the town that Dean learned was Pontiac, Illinois, or ran practice marathons for fun, or went out and came home with new black swirls and dots on his arms, legs, and torso, or crocheted scarves for charity, or any of a number of other hobbies. 

Barbecue Sauce was utterly batshit, but he kept damn busy.

And every night...

“Sweet dreams, Dog.”

...he invited Dean into bed…

“Sleep tight, Dog.”

...waited for Dean to curl up…

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite, Dog.”

...and tucked in close to Dean, spooning him, wrapping an arm around his neck or shoulders or midsection or haunches.

“Good night, Dog.”

It was…

...it was  _ really fucking nice _ .

Dean  _ liked  _ it.

A fuckton.

_ Night, Cas...good work...sleep well...I’ll most likely kill you in the morning… _

“Ni...nigh....niiiiight...” Cas would mumble as he drifted off.

_ Princess Bride references aside...I really  _ should  _ leave in the morning… _

And yet morning came, and the bacon was frying, and Cas was on about the beehives he wanted to build in the backyard come spring, and the weather report promised that the current 25 degree temperature was the high for the day, with a cold front bringing flurries and a slump into the teens and wind chills below zero, and Cas was  _ still _ getting ready for his jog and fuck Dean but of course he was gonna run along, and Dean thought…

_...it’s fine here. I can always leave tomorrow… _

Except that he didn’t.

Because he didn’t  _ want _ to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short scene. I might get another scene up later today but since this is done and I'm not sure I'll have more time, I wanted to get it posted.
> 
> Also, I wrote an outline, and I might have been optimistic when I said this story wouldn't hit 50k words. Right now, I'd guess 30k to 40k, but since I tend to underestimate...well, my outline has 20 items on it, so.
> 
> Also also, I think I've got nearly all the tags covered now? There might be a few more smut tags to add but I think the plot ones are basically covered.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry there was no chapter yesterday. Paradoxically, when my wife is home on the weekends its actually *harder* for me to get writing done, cause either we're doing family stuff, or she's putting in some extra work so I'm watching the kids, or she's watching the kids so I can pack a lifetime worth of cleaning and housework and maintenance into as few hours as possible. So words don't end up happening.
> 
> I'm gonna try to post two scenes today to make up for it, but the potato is sick, so that could throw a wrench in things. So here's one scene done, and I've got the next one started...fingers crossed!

“What...phew...what is it, Dog?” Cas’ words were stilted, broken around his panting breaths that wreathed his face in mist as he stumbled to a halt.

The wind gusted again and Dean caught another trace of the scent . He couldn’t have have described the smell. It was nothing so simple as “bacon” or “lilac,” nor even “barbecue sauce.” All he knew was how he instinctively reacted to it....

_...dirty...bad…sick... _

...and that he’d smelled it before.

_...twisted...corrupted…disgusting... _

It was how the blood of every son of a bitch shapechanger he’d killed had tasted on Dean’s tongue when he’d ripped their fucking throats out.

_...wrong...wicked...tainted… _

It was how Dean smelled to himself.

... _ feral...desperate...lost... _

There were skinwalkers to their west, a pack living in the forest, or individuals infiltrating a town in that direction, or a group masquerading as a normal family on some isolated farm. There was definitely more than one, their scents twisting together and melding. It wasn’t some lonely outlier, not like him. Of course not. Most skinwalkers stuck with their packs for safety, for companionship, to work together to spread their contagion.

Dean would never be like them.

They were out there, and they’d have to be dealt with.

Head lifted as if the extra few inches of height would improve his already acute sense of smell, Dean took an inadvertent step in the direction from which the wind had blown, and then another, and another. 

“Dog?”

The movement  _ did _ help, distancing him from Cas’ overwhelming and tempting aroma. Winter-bare branches clattered overhead as the breeze gusted. Salt, laid thick on the road to fight off the frost and snow, stung the sensitive pads of Dean’s paws. The bed of snow covering the forest floor seemed to glow, gathering the ambient light from who-knew-where to paint the winter evening in gray. The weather was frigid, the snow dampening the usual wet, musty smell of the forest, and as the wind waxed and waned, the scent came and went...one individual, two, four, at least five different skinwalkers, roaming somewhere in the night.

Fuck, but Dean  _ had  _ to find a way to discourage Cas from these late-night post-shift runs. Even if there was nothing more evil in the world than bears and psychos with guns, being out in the woods around Pontiac after midnight would have been a shit idea. But on their runs, Dean had scented a vampire, a wendigo, a something-or-other that he couldn’t ID but that was  _ definitely  _ not natural, and a fricken rugaru. And now a pack of skinwalkers. None of the threats were near, thank fuckin’ God, but even in the same county was too close. Cas was just a dude - a dude who smelled like blood way too often for comfort, Dean could still smell traces of it from Cas’ time on the job earlier - and for all intents and purposes, Dean was just a dog.

If a pack of skinwalkers attacked them, they were boned.

Pun not fuckin’ intended, damn his brain.

“Dog!”

The glare of headlights, blare of a car horn, and reek of burning rubber flooded Dean’s senses as a car braked hard to keep from hitting him. He was a fuckin’ moron, stopping in the middle of the road. He skipped back to the shoulder as the driver rolled down his window. 

“Leash your fuckin’ dog, asshole!” he snarled.

“Yes - of course - I’m so sorry,” Cas stammered a defensive reply, unnecessarily as the driver’s window was already rolling up, wheels screeching as the driver accelerated too quickly on the icy pavement. 

Pouting his apology, head drooped, Dean paced to sit beside Cas. Cas dropped a cold, supportive hand onto his head. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t actually leash you.”

Pavement snagged the long hairs of Dean’s tail as he wagged his agreement. He wouldn’t wear a collar, much less a fucking leash. He wasn’t domesticated, wasn’t owned. No matter how he looked, how he acted, he wasn’t  _ actually  _ a dog, and he’d be damned if he’d let himself be treated like some...some...some prima donna pup.

Though the human food was great, and failing that, he’d never said no to Cesar Gourmet or that fricken Rachel Ray stuff in a can. Compared to some of the shit he’d eaten…

...hell, he’d eaten literal shit…

...okay but sometimes shit was pretty tasty, depending what the shitter had been eating…

...tangent...sometimes he was such a dog he hated himself for it.

Often.  _ Often _ he was such a dog he hated himself for it.

Maybe he’d been a dog too long. Maybe, like the skinwalkers lurking somewhere in the forest, he’d truly become a monster and forgotten his humanity.

But changing back would mean…

“Dog.”

No.

“Let’s go home,” said Cas uneasily. 

He’d never change back, never be  _ Dean Winchester _ again.

“There’s something about tonight…”

As his dad had said, his son, Dean Winchester, died the night he was stupid enough to get bit while out on a hunt.

“...coming out here wasn’t a good idea.”

Dean couldn’t agree more.

Nothing about Dean’s itinerant life was a good idea. 

But what choice did he have?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All your comments are so motivating for me. Thank you all, I wouldn't have even made it this far without your support. <3


	5. Chapter 5

The suburban street on which Cas lived was silent and dark. Only rustles from the ravine behind his backyard broke the midnight monotony. The walls and windows muted the smell of the outdoors but didn’t quench them. A family of mice intrepidly sought a way into the house, away from the stalking owl in the trees. One of the neighbors had a woodfire going, but they’d done a garbage job at building it; the pine reeked with the acrid undertone of burning tar and the tang of melted plastic stung his nose. Though he’d showered, Cas still smelled of his job - no blood today, thankfully, but he’d been vomited on and Dean could scent every morsel of half-digested food the patient had upchucked, and the bile, and more that he didn’t want to think about. The bedding needed a wash, tinged with sweat, skin, Cas’ barbecue scent, and the salt-musk of come from some time or other when Cas had masturbated. The carpet smelled of...and the curtains wafted out...and the remains of dinner tantalized...and something in the walls had died…and...

It was so much. Too much.

How the fuck did actual dogs deal with the assault of aromas without losing their damn minds?

Dean had always been a shit excuse for a man, and getting changed as a teen had ensured he got to be a shit excuse for a  _ dog _ , too.

_ Why blow at being one species when I can blow at being two? _

_ Good times. _

_...and what is that Goddamn smell? _

Dean couldn’t sleep.

He had to think about something, anything else. Being alone with himself when he got all stupid maudlin was the worst. If he was out on his own, like he should be, he’d be too busy surviving to get whiny and depressed.

But if he left, if he was out on his own, he’d miss...

_ “When the fuck did you get a dog, Cas?” _

When Cas came home from work with an attractive, tangy-smelling blonde on his arm, Dean had assumed he’d be spending the night on the kitchen floor, but they hadn’t fucked. Heck, the possibility didn’t even seem to be in the cards - there were no wistful glances, no suggestive touches, no pheromone scent. Just two people, two friends, comfortable with each other, comfortable in the house, having a pointless, pleasant evening. They cooked dinner, talked about work, argued about knives of all fucking things, watched a repeat of Dr. Sexy, and Cas used his first aid kit to treat a wound on her side. 

_ “I didn’t ‘get a dog,’” Cas replied, air quotes prompting the woman to roll her eyes. “He’s opted to stay with me for a time.” _

The woman and Cas were close enough friends that Cas didn’t say her name once all evening. To Dean’s frustration, he didn’t think Cas should have  _ had  _ to tell him her name. He kept thinking, kept feeling, that he knew her. Her scent was eerie, beyond Dean’s ability to identify, yet bizarrely familiar. 

_ “Everytime I think you can’t get any fuckin’ weirder. So...what...pupper is your roommate?” _

Dean still caught wafts of her from downstairs and from the laundry basket where Cas had discarded the clothes he’d been wearing when she hugged him goodnight. Another scent to drive him bonkers, because he _knew_ he recognized that aroma, knew he knew _her_ , but he couldn’t put his finger...paw...nose...on it. 

_ “Roommate. That’s a good name for our cohabitation, yes, though he doesn’t pay his share of the rent.” _

Something about her and her scent set him on edge, and it wasn’t just that he should know her, yet didn’t. Blaming his insomnia on the fricken frightened mice outside was idiotic. That wasn’t what had him jittery. That goddamn smell was like the memory of a memory, the significance of it just out of reach.

_ “What a bum! Bet he eats your food and makes you clean his shit up from the yard, too. And never answers the door or opens the mail. What’s his name?” _

The scent was like his dad, but lacked that hard edge of aggression. It was like Sam, but with an astringent, inhuman undernote. It was like Bobby, and that son of a bitch Gordon who’d come after him a few years back, and...whatever else her scent reminded him of, she definitely smelled like a Hunter. Sort of. She also smelled like a fricken bar - french fries and burgers and spilled beer and gasoline and stained wood and the blood and decay of the cut on her side and maybe she was the one who’d vomited on Cas, cause she’d sure smelled like she’d retched. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t sort her out - because there was too much going on. Or maybe, if he’d been a real dog, the explanation for the familiar smell would have been obvious, would have triggered a scent memory, like that asshole who ate a cookie and remember his mom or however the fuck that story went.

_ “Dog. His name is Dog.” _

If she hadn’t been so fricken nice to him, petting him and praising him and feeding him bits of cheese from her plate, he might have hated her. 

_ “You. Named the dog. Dog.” _

At least she and Cas weren’t banging.

_ “I didn’t name him. Dog st a title of respect. I assume that, in his native language, he has a name. Since he can’t communicate that name, it would be presumptuous of me to seek to attach a different appellation to him.” _

And then there was Cas.

_ “So fucking weird. The weirdest. Dunno why we put up with you.” _

There was no fucking way Cas knew that Dean understood every word he said.

_ “My apologies, I didn’t mean to make things awkward, I just--” _

There was no fucking way Cas was  _ real _ .

_ “Cas. Oh, Cas. What would we do without you?” _

The entire conversation couldn’t have been more calculated to stir the dark places in Dean that he never dared examine. Cas unabashedly told his visitor that they were roomies, that he didn’t want to name Dean cause it’d be rude, never tried to collar him, implied with every word he said that he was considerate of Dean’s humanity...uh...dogmanity?

Cas  _ respected _ him.

Mystery lady concurred with Dean’s assessment of Cas. Cas was the weirdest.

Except...Dean might be weirder still.

Cause he liked living at the cozy little house in Pontiac.

He liked eating dinner with Cas sitting opposite him on the kitchen floor.

He liked when Cas talked about his day.

He liked when Cas came out of the shower smelling fresh and clean and new.

He liked when Cas scrubbed the dirt out of Dean’s fur.

Hell, he even liked the fucking forced torture marches that Cas called  _ jogs _ .

Dean  _ liked _ Cas.

Dean liked  _ Cas _ .

Fuck.

Dean had hit the road solo more than a decade ago. He was a lone wolf. He needed no one, wanted no one, but himself. The open road was his home. He was free.

But...he actually...kind of...maybe…

...he wanted....

...at least...

...as long as Cas would tolerate him…

...miracle that had even been this long...

Cas mumbled incoherently in his sleep and snuggled closer to Dean, the comforter a thick layer between them that seemed like no separation at all. 

Dean wanted to sleep in bed with Cas. Dean wanted to live in Pontiac. 

Dean wished to be with Cas, longed to be with Cas, yearned to extend their time together.

Light glowed against Dean’s eyelids. Surprised, he blinked away his troubled thoughts. The blankets had fallen away from Cas’ neck, bunched over his shoulders, revealing bared skin and…

...shining blue tattoos?

The fuck?

Oh. 

Dean had  _ finally  _ fallen asleep.

He had the weirdest fuckin’ dreams.

Why couldn’t he dream of squirrels like a normal fricken dog?

The blue faded, Cas unconsciously tugged the blankets up, and Dean’s eyes slipped shut.

Weird, yeah, just like everything about Cas was weird...but it was a good dream.

Finally, Dean slept well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys just in case anyone checks back wondering where the next bit is - the next scene is considerably longer than the previous ones (already around 2k and I've still got a bit to go) so I wasn't able to finish it yesterday. I'll try to get it done today (11/7)!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I missed yesterday, this scene is longer...

“Long shift today, Dog.” Unusually, Cas wasn’t enthusiastic about leaving for work. He sounded tired and resigned and it weirded Dean out.

Hell, Dean had been staying with Cas so long that when Cas reacted like a  _ normal fucking person _ to the prospect of going to work, Dean thought Cas was behaving out of character.

Cas wasn’t smiling.

Tail wagging, Dean approached Cas and rubbed his face over Cas’ thigh. Dropping to a squat, Cas hugged him and mussed the hair of his back. Barbecue sauce scent flooded Dean’s nose, intoxicating, and Dean couldn’t resist lurching forward and nuzzling at Cas’ side. Cas tumbled backward onto his rear, back hitting the wall, and he laughed before disengaging himself from Dean and standing to go.

There was his smile, back right where it belonged.

“Good Dog,” he murmured affectionately. “Back door is open as usual. Have a good day - I’ll be back tomorrow. I promise.”

And there he was, back to saying weird shit.

Situation normal - all fucked up.

Dean wouldn’t have it any other way.

Cas gave him one more pat on the head and left.

The house was empty with Cas gone, an essential source of energy drained away. Cas left lights on and food in reach and the heat up for Dean, and the back door cracked so he could use the bathroom outside, but it wasn’t the same. When he left, Dean invariably realized how much he liked having Cas around, how little he liked when they were apart. When he left, Dean missed Cas’ energy, his vibrancy, even the bizarre ass stuff he spewed. When he left, realizing how lifeless the house was with Cas gone, how lonely Dean was in Cas’ absence, invariably made Dean wonder what the fuck he was doing, and he invariably walked to the backdoor, eyed it, pondered, worried, and debated bolting into the winter and never looking back. If Cas had ever tried to restrain him - ever tried to  _ force  _ him to stay - Dean would be off like a shot. As it was...knowing that Cas would let him go, even though Cas clearly, inexplicably, cared about him, reassured Dean. Any given day, staying might prove to have been a shit idea, but it was Dean’s choice, and if he changed his mind, he could leave now, he could leave tomorrow, he could leave next week.

When he wanted to leave, he could leave. 

He tried not to think too  _ why  _ he didn’t want to leave.

And then there was today.

Dean had a plan for today.

The door to Cas’ garage wasn’t thick enough to block the hum of the motor starting or the puff of exhaust that seeped into the room. Dean waited until the garage door clattered shut, waited until the rush of air around Cas’ departing car could no longer be heard or smelled, and then he crossed the first floor to the kitchen and pawed open the back door. Cold air wreathed him, blocked from reaching his skin by the warmth captured around his body by his long hair. The crisp air smelled of deer and wet tree bark and ice. 

There was a storm coming.

_ I could just...stay home… _

A whiff of wet dog soured the next gust.

The scent wasn’t a skinwalker - it didn’t have that distinct tang, and several of Cas’ neighbors had dogs - but it reinforced Dean’s decision.

There was danger in the forests around Pontiac. Dean couldn’t deal with the wendigo, and he’d found the rugaru dead in the forest a few days after he first scented it, and beheading vampires was fricken impossible without opposable thumbs, but if he was careful, he  _ could  _ deal with other skinwalkers. 

He could at least  _ try _ .

Tugging the door shut behind him as best he could, Dean loped over the deep snow of the cleared yard, following a path Cas had dug for him so he could use the bathroom more easily. The reek of his own markings, his chosen snow spots stained, reassured him that even if he was gone for a while with the door unlocked behind him, Cas’ house would be safe. A human might be stupid enough to try to get in, but any animal - natural or otherwise - would smell the freshness of Dean’s presence and give the property a wide berth.

Just to be sure, he stopped at the edge of the forest, lifted a leg, and took a whizz.

Much better.

Cas’ home was at the end of a cul-de-sac surrounded by woods, with no more developments interrupting the wilderness beyond. Beyond his home, the land declined precipitously into a ravine. Dean suspected that, come spring, a stream would burble through the deepest places, but in winter the ground was shadowed and buried feet deep in accumulated snow. The branches of the trees overhead entwined. The close-clustered trunks tangled with vines and shrubs, forming a thicket nigh-impenetrable in places. 

Guided by his mental map of the area, a combination of visuals and scents, Dean pushed his way through the undergrowth, moving so quickly that his paws didn’t even sink into the loosely packed snow. In moments he was on the far side of the ravine, beyond the area he’d previously explored . To his eyes, the forest floor was a quilt of lights and darks - incandescent white where snow reflected the sun, black where drifting and melt exposed rimed leaves and fallen trunks and roots and dirt. The wind gusted, stirring misty clouds of loose flakes to ghost between the trees, stinging Dean’s eyes and nose. His vision was nigh useless, too slow to adapt to the contrasting light levels for him to see clearly, but his scent map was exceptional and guided him on his way. Though he’d never traversed this precise area, he’d circled it repeatedly, and triangulating the familiar smells was easy.

To his left, beyond the screen of trees, was a strip mall with a McDonalds, the scent of frying oil and grilled hamburger briefly tempting him from his mission. To his right was a deer run, crisscrossed by the scent of the lumbering bear that had, until recently, preyed on the deer. With the advent of true winter, the bear had retreated to his den - Dean briefly followed the freshest bear smell and confirmed the beast had chosen a cave in a rock fall nearby. Ahead of him, the smell of oil and salt marked the wending way of a road over which Cas often jogged. Dean even scented a trace of Cas’ barbecue sauce, subtle enough that he’d not have noticed it had he not been checking, but rendered unmistakable by familiarity. Each time a car went by, the wind whispered in its wake, spreading the smell of rubber and plastic and metal. Minutes brought him to the asphalt, cutting like a river through the forest.

_ Now Sammy, remember, never cross the street-- _

_ \--without looking both ways. I  _ know _ , Dean. I’m not a kid any more. _

_ Dude, you’re twelve. Totes still a kid. _

_ Says the sixteen year old who says “totes.” _

_...fine, yeah, not my best trick. _

_ Watch out, jerk, or I’ll get you one of those tote bags that says “totes my goats.” _

_ You wouldn’t dare, bitch! _

That had been the last conversation he had with Sam before Dean’s dumb ass got bit and he’d become a monster.

Shit, why’d he have to think about that  _ now _ of all time?

Okay, but to be fair to himself, he’d not been bitten on the ass. He’d been bitten on the arm.

Quibbling. Sam woulda ragged him for hours if only dad had let Dean say “so long, and thanks for all the fish” before kicking him to the curb like the cur he’d become.

Thank fucking God dogs couldn’t cry; the wind would only have frozen the tears on his cheeks.

It was bullshit anyway. Babies cried over spilled milk. Dean wasn’t a baby - heck, he wasn’t even a teen anymore, he’d lost track of how many years had past but he had to be coming up on 30 - and he sure as shit wasn’t gonna cry over shit that was over and done and couldn’t be changed.

The latest gust of wind carried on it the smell of skinwalkers, at least a handful...pawful...of them, living somewhere to his south and west. Dean had a zillion better things to do than wallow. He crossed the road in pursuit, running toward the gradually intensifying smell, running away from his shit memories.

Getting nostalgic for Sam was pointless. Dad had called Dean a monster and promised if they crossed paths again he’d pump Dean’s carcass full of silver. Sure, Sam and Dad rarely agreed about anything, but Dean had no doubt that his non-humanity would give them common cause. If, somehow, Dean ever saw his brother again, saw his dad again, saw Bobby or any of his old so-called family, they’d kill him.

Sometimes Dean wondered if he should let ‘um.

Sam deserved better than a monster for a brother anyway.

And if he wasn’t gonna get himself ganked...if he tucked his tail between his legs and went all sad dog at the skinwalkers they’d welcome him with open arms...uh...forelegs. Other packs had invited him in, told him about their alpha-given mission to infiltrate unsuspecting families and turn all the humans into beasts like them.

He’d killed ever last one of those fuckers.

The last thing the world needed was more Goddamn skinwalkers.

In the dead of winter, with Cas waiting for him, Dean had negative desire to spend weeks stalking and picking off the members of an increasingly wary pack one by one.

Yet here he was, scouting like he was going to act.

Damn him for still having the instincts of a Hunter.

Following his nose through the woods, Dean passed isolated cabins and the dirt roads that led to them, climbed over forgotten wagon trails and crumbling stone walls, and slid down a steep power cut that sliced through the woods as sharply and crisply as a knife wound. Startled does and rabbits froze or bounded away from him; clouds of birds took flight, fleeing skeletal branches for the safety of holly bushes or pines cloaked in wintergreen. Rolling hills and dense growth limited his field of vision and interfered with his sense of smell; scents that seemed distant from one valley seemed beside him in the next. The wind scooped out strange shapes in the snow in some of the deep dark places while rocky outcrops or viney ledges protected others and left them bare. Sounds crackled around them, branches breaking and straining under the weight of snow and icicles. Freshly fallen trees scattered splinters and twigs atop the most recent stormfall. Where the sun struck the ground cover, it cleared patches of forest floor or melted layers of snow to slick ice; in other places Dean left distinct paw prints behind him, four clawed circles and a flattened heart striding back the way he’d come; and in still others he sank in up to his chest, soaking his legs with frigid melt that flash-froze when the wind next struck him. The hair that hung down his sides, stuck out from his legs, hung in a brown and gray and black wave from his tail, covered his belly and crotch, grew heavy with ice that even a vigorous shake couldn’t dislodge.

The scent of skinwalkers grew more intense.

A screen of trees gave way abruptly to cleared farmland, a carpet of snow broken occasionally by squirrel and rabbit paths, bird landings, and the browned, broken stalks of last summer’s corn crop. The trees of a distant windbreak made black shadows on the crest of a hill to his right, and ahead of him a sprawling farm complex was silhouetted against the painfully bright white of the sky.

The land reeked of dogs. The house that was non-descript to his eyes was the nasal equivalent of a blaring neon sign proclaiming “Skinwalkers live here!” There were so many different aromas they were difficult to distinguish, but as Dean hesitated at the edge of the tree cover he lifted his nose to the air and took stock - there were five, eight, eleven, at least fifteen different individuals, some adults, some pups…

...a family group...a pack...

Dean didn’t smell a single fucking human. Dean’s own scent, though still that of a skinwalker, stuck out like a sore thumb - he ate a different diet, interacted with different materials and  household chemicals, and came from a different lineage. If he was going to investigate in more details, he’d have to mask himself somehow…

...it was a stupid risk, and unnecessary. He’d found where they were living, maybe 6 miles outside of town, and if they came near him or Cas he could deal with them then…

... _ don’t go in half-cocked, kid - don’t take dumbass chances unless you’re trying to die… _

_...that’s what got me bitten in the first fuckin’ place… _

...but who was he kidding? Of course Dean would go closer.

Nose to the ground, Dean sniffed back into the forest. A family of foxes had a den nearby, likely preying on the mice and moles and squirrels and birds who came to the field to peck for stray corn kernels. If they survived here, there must be clear water nearby, too…

...there.

Some thousand feet back from the field, a natural spring thawed a meandering path through the frozen landscape. Dean leaned close to lap at the comparatively warm flow, drinking his fill, then he tentatively advanced a paw down the shallow embankment of the course the water had cut. 

The ground beneath the shallows was cold, but not frozen - rocks and dense mud and rotted leaves layers thick.

Just what Dean needed.

Into the water he went.

A blast of cold air scoured the landscape and Dean immediately regretted every life choice that had led him to this moment. The water was warm only compared to the depths of horrible winter; soaked with water, Dean was fricken flash-froze in the deepening chill. 

_ Quit bitching and get the job...the Hunt...well, the reconnaissance... _ done _ … _

Taking a deep breath, Dean dunked himself, rolling through the shallows, coating himself with water and rill-sludge. Gasping and heaving, he hauled himself back ashore, drops from his fur cutting tracks into the powdery snow banks. Another gust left him shaking, and he blinked, struggling to clean freezing beads from the hairs surrounding his eyes. He waited until most of the flow had coursed from him, then twisted around and sniffed at his own haunch.

He still...kinda...smelled like himself, despite the mud and ice matting his fur.

Fuck.

By all rights, he should pick a spot a little downstream, jump back in, get more gunk on himself, but he was already shivering uncontrollably and no amount of self-castigation could induce him to undergo another soaking. There must be a better option...the forest floor was too solid for him to roll on...the stench that spoke to a distant manure pile would make him smell  _ too _ distinct...the snow smelled too clean…

...the sweet-sour smell of urine reached him…

...except the snow  _ wasn’t  _ clean everywhere.

The foxes had to piss.

Finding the spot was simplicity once he sought it, a patch of stained snow accumulated in the protection of a tangle of exposed tree roots.

Dean dove in with a will, rolling in the snow, adding the foxy aroma to his swamp monster-wet dog stench. When he was done, he looped the tree then followed his own trail, smelling...yeah, there was still a faint undertone of skinwalker, but mostly he smelled like a fox who’d lost a fight with the Creature from the Black Lagoon.

Legions of animals sticking to the dubious cover of the shadowing tree branches had flattened an icy path along the edge of the corn field. Dean followed the track, the road before him invisible but smellable even if he hadn’t inferred its existence by the presence of the house. An irrigation ditch separated the field from the asphalt, nearly filled by filthy plowed snow . Dean slinked into the shallow, keeping his head down as if that would somehow hide his dark form from sight. The day was too bright for him, sunlight and snowglare flattening his vision of the terrain to painfully white expanses punctuated by black blobs. The house resolved slowly as he drew nearer, resolving into several buildings in close proximity - a simple farmhouse, a barn, a dilapidated silo, and, fronting the road, a large, professional looking sign, lettered in high contrast to be easily read by the drivers who occasionally sped by.

**Rollins’ Plains**

**Breeders, Growers, Fertilizer and More**

**Westminster-Award Winning Beagles**

**815-555-2356**

**Rollinsplainsbreeders.com**

Dean didn’t smell a single fucking  _ actual _ beagles. Only skinwalkers, masquerading as beagles, and apparently marketing themselves as the fuckin’ Cadillac of dogs to sell to the unsuspecting public. What better cover to infiltrate families far and wide, before the moment when they bit and changed their owners to be like them.

Fucking fuckity fuck fucks.

_ As if I didn’t have enough reasons to get out of dodge...there’s gotta be twenty organized, intelligent, well-known skinwalkers in this shithole… _

_ ….this road, it’s gotta lead somewhere. I could follow it, go there, find a new home. This pack can be someone else’s problem. I can never think about it again. _

_ Right. _

_ As if I could  _ actually  _ do that. _

_ I’m gonna have to act. _

_ And I’m gonna get my ass handed to me on a silver platter. _

_ Fricken fracken fucksticks. Fuck me. _

A door clattered open and shut, and though Dean could make out nothing of the house save that it  _ had  _ a porch, he could smell the man - the skinwalker - who’d emerged. 

Dean would say he’d never wished he could disappear more at any time before in his life but it’d be a flat-out lie. There’d been loads of times he wished he could disappear. But this was pretty damn high on the list. The blur of the man paced to and fro before the house, distant creaks of old wood loud to Dean’s ears. 

_ He’s not outside because of me. There’s no way he could know I’m here. Even if he could I smell like a fox piss marsh beast. _

No amount of elf-reassuring kept him from imagining that the man lifted his face to the wind, scented the air, stared down at him…

...not that Dean could  _ actually  _ see shit about the man...

...it felt like a lifetime before the sound of footsteps retreated back into the house, greeted by the excited  _ yip-yip-yip _ of puppies.

Dean let out an explosive breath that wreathed his face with mist.

Fuck, it was cold, and long past time for him to have gone.

_...time to take my act on the road, get my ass to somewhere new where no one knows my scent...if they come looking for me, they’ll find me...heck, they’ve probably smelled me already, probably already know there’s another Skinwalker encroaching on their pack territory...what the fuck was I thinking, letting Cas drag me all over creation during his runs? Shoulda stayed warm, stayed safe, kept a low profile at home… _

_...at  _ home _ … _

_...shit… _

_ Dean. It’s time to go. _

And Dean went.


	7. Chapter 7

“Dog?”

Cas’ concerned voice woke Dean. Bleary-eyed, he opened his eyes, only to close them again as the cold stung his retinas. The night was dark and frigid and Dean was so cold that his back spasmed and shoulders shivered. Mounded snow, fresh flakes still falling and accumulating atop him, made a miniature avalanche as it cascaded down his flanks.

“Why are you outside?”

Only six some-odd weeks living at Cas’ and Dean had already grown so pathetic - so unused to suffering, so comfortable, so overfed and soft.

“Did the door close on you?”

Dean was outside Cas’ house... _ their _ house, fucking  _ dammit _ ...because he  _ wanted to be _ .

Cas gasped. 

Rising stiffly, Dean shook himself, ice-bound fur rigid along the contours of his skin, frozen hair tips poking him and crackling as he got his paws under him. The stoop where he’d lain was caked with muddy ice and piled with mounds of fresh snow, visible in the circle of light cast by the backdoor light...

“Something happened, didn’t it.”

...and...

“Are you hurt?”

...and Cas must have on a pair of those bluetooth headphone things that had gotten popular, cause his neck was fuckin’ glowing blue, a halo of neon contained by the collar of his coat.

“Was there something here?”

Like Dean could actually answer him. He shot Cas a stink eye, but Cas didn’t notice, peering into the gray darkness, treeline made hazy by clumped snowflakes falling thickly. Dean had no idea what Cas expected to see, but Cas seemed satisfied, for he shook his head. The blue faded away and he glanced down at Dean, chuckling at the condemning look that Dean managed to convey.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Cas said with more reassurance and less alarm. “I’m home now. Come in!” He held the door open expectantly. Dean rolled his eyes and didn’t budge. “What  _ is  _ it? You must be chilled, and…” He trailed off as Dean lifted a leg to scratch his haunch and his nails dislodged slurries of mud. Dean stared pointedly at the mess, then back at the door. “You’re...you’re worried about tracking dirt into the house? For goodness sake, Dog, I don’t care about that! I care that you’re frozen through. Get in here and I’ll give you a nice warm bath.”

Dean heaved a sigh. He’d thought maybe Cas could upend a bucket of hot water on him while he was still outside, melt the worst of the filth away so he wouldn’t track it into the house, but he couldn’t explain that plan to Cas, and since Cas hadn’t thought of it, so...there was no help for it.

He stepped into the house, loped past Cas, and made a beeline for the bathroom. The pitter-patter of ice chunks hitting the wooden floor was louder than the clack of his nails. Cas must be exhausted; it wasn’t fair that he’d have to clean up after Dean, too. Should have left him outside until it warmed enough for Dean to thaw. If there was sunshine, that would have done it, and Cas could have gone the fuck to sleep. He smelled exhausted. Maybe after the bath, Dean could surreptitiously lick up the half-melted puddles before Cas had to trouble himself. 

Because it bothered Dean that the house...their house...would be gross because of him.

Because this was Dean’s  _ home _ .

The ice tangled on his stomach tinkled against the lip of the bathtub as he leapt in.

Cas followed in his wake and paused in the doorway, smiling.

“Come on, Dog, let’s get you washed up.”

The skinwalkers were a problem, but they’d probably scented him ages ago and hadn’t acted against him. He could deal with them slowly, over time, eliminate them one by one until the breeder was closed for business.

Because he didn’t want to leave Pontiac.

Because the skinwalkers lived in  _ his  _ town, and they were fucking monsters.

Dean didn’t want to leave Cas.

He didn’t want to leave  _ their home _ .

And fuck if he wasn’t a weak, selfish little bitch of an excuse for an alpha dog, because he’d relinquished everything he’d ever wanted since mom died, and he just... _ couldn’t _ ...anymore.

Cas’ fricken bluetooth dealie-boppers were glowing again.

“Brace yourself,” Cas warned. “You’re so cold, even lukewarm is going to feel like fire at first.” 

The water splashed on, and fuck ‘warm’ feeling like too much - even the cold water eddying about his feet stung as it saturated the ice crystals binding the short hairs around his paw pads. Squeezing his eyes shut, he grinned and bore it, baring his canines. Cas soaked his hands in the flow and gently, carefully worked free the fur-bound chunks of snow. 

“There we go,” he murmured. “Getting better already.”

Never in his life had Dean felt better, had Dean felt more  _ right _ , than when the water sluiced off his back as Cas worked his fingers through Dean’s fur and over his body.

Dean’s instincts were right, of course. He  _ should  _ leave. He  _ should  _ move on. He  _ shouldn’t _ want this.

But he felt...good. Sometimes he even felt...he felt  _ happy _ . He didn’t want to leave, and he was done fighting himself.

“I’m glad you waited for me, Dog. I’ve… I suppose I’vegotten used to you. It was lonely here before you decided to stay with me. I’d miss you if you left.”

Dean was home.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean hated when they ran on still nights. When the wind didn’t blow, it felt like anything might be lurking in the darkness stalking them and he wouldn’t smell them until it was too late. 

It didn’t help that Pontiac was, somehow, a fucking  _ magnet  _ for the supernatural. Dean had trekked all over the country - even ventured down into Mexico and up into Canada a handful of times. Thanks to his nose, he’d learned that monsters were  _ way  _ more common than even paranoid perceptive fucking John Winchester had believed, but Dean had never been anywhere so overpopulated with fucked up fuckers as this podunk middle of nowhere bullshit town in mid-Illinois. 

Fortunately, there were Hunters active, too. Dean hadn’t seen or smelled them, but he’d seen the evidence of their handiwork. A couple days after Dean found the skinwalker breeders, he’d scented a fricken  _ ocean  _ of blood from the direction of the vampire nest - tainted vampire blood, not human - and he’d not gotten a fresh whiff of vampire track since then. Someone, or multiple someones, had taken out the entire nest. The wendigo had either left or been killed too - there had been an ashy scent floating on the breeze one morning that made him think the latter - and the rugaru was dead, too, and many of the other creatures Dean scented either hadn’t lingered play tourist or had gotten their asses ganked. 

He’d scented a  _ lot  _ of passersby. Heck, even with the winter lying like a smothering blanket of the night, Dean caught a whiff of a kitsune somewhere to their left - not approaching, thank fricken God.

And then there was Cas.

During their runs, Dean had  _ way  _ too much time to think about shit.

Like how Cas sometimes seemed to know what Dean was thinking.

Like how Cas sometimes seemed to be  _ answering  _ what Dean was thinking, and understanding Dean’s responses to things Cas said.

Like how Cas hadn’t ever, from their first interaction, actually treated Dean like a fricken  _ dog _ .

Like how Cas  _ didn’t own _ a fucking bluetooth headset.

Unless some bastard had innovated phosphorescent tattoo ink - unlikely, but awesome if true - Cas  _ himself  _ fucking  _ glowed  _ sometimes. 

Dean had always been inclined to trust his nose - even on nights like this, when his nose told him jackshit - and his nose told him that Cas was human.

Well, his nose told him that Cas smelled like barbecue sauce. The only humans Dean had ever met who smelled so much like Southern cooking were roadhouse chefs. Dean had no idea what to make of that aroma. No one they encountered on their runs together commented on the fact that Cas reeked like a walking, talking McRib sandwich. Human noses were rubbish compared to Dean’s but surely  _ someone  _ would have noticed.

Cas...Cas  _ might  _ be a monster. 

Which would explain why he took to Dean, and took him in, if he knew enough about the supernatural to recognize a skinwalker when he saw one. Dean didn’t know of any baddies that fricken glowed but, then, Dean hadn’t recognized a skinwalker until one used him as a chew toy.

Not every monster was evil.

Dean himself was no example of that. He’d done tons of bad shit since he was turned. He was  _ definitely  _ a monster. But in his travels, he’d met plenty of creatures just trying to live their best lives: vampires who smelled of blood bags or animals blood; werewolves that survived choking down cow hearts; a shapeshifter who used his abilities to perfect his drag performance; the list went on. If Cas was evil, Dean hadn’t scented a whiff of it on him, and Cas’ interactions with other humans had seemed normal enough.

Speaking of weird shit about Cas, Cas had only had one person over - the blonde - in two months. She’d  _ also  _ smelled normal, except for the eerie familiarity of her. And the blood. Of the wound that Cas had stitched up on the couch.

Oh yeah.

_ Completely  _ normal.  _ So  _ normal. Just friends being friends, move along citizen, nothing to see here.

Cas was  _ probably  _ a mons--

The reek of burned rubber assaulted Dean’s nose so powerfully that he missed a step and barely caught himself before he slammed his chin into the asphalt. Cas gasped and stumbled as well. There wasn’t a car to be seen, not a mark on the pavement or fragment of debris to suggest a recent accident, no sign of--

\--there were headlights bearing down on them and a force shoving Dean into the road - Cas too, his steps veering into the car lanes despite his strained breaths--

\--and this was Goddamn  _ ghost  _ shit. Dean had always hated ghosts but now he fuckin’ loathed them. It wasn’t like he could carry iron with him, and he couldn’t light a fricken match, and his paws were sensitive to salt, and usually when he encountered ghosts now he just got the hell out of dodge since salting and burning their bones was off the table, and--

“Dog!”

Cas’ cry for help cut Dean through. A ghost car could kill. Dean would  _ never  _ let that happen, not to himself, not to Cas. There was no fighting the force pushing them into the road, so Dean went with it, ran toward the traffic, barreled into Cas, and knocked them both to the ground on the far side of the road. The car - no, a truck, Dean realized as it passed them - swerved through where they’d just been standing, sped on by, and then the glare of tail lights vanished as suddenly as the headlights had appeared. Dean looked back to Cas, expecting to see him sprawled on the ground, paralyzed with fear, staring at where the apparition had been.

Cas was on his feet, expression a night-dark blur, scent determined and only barely threaded with fear. Instead of watching the road, he was examining a tree beside where they’d fallen. 

Oh, yeah,  _ absolutely, utterly  _ normal.

There was something different about the tree - everything smelled natural but the trunk was discolored. Dean cautiously stepped forward, hoping he could get close enough to resolve whatever it was, fucking nearsightedness, squinted and...it was a cross, nailed up, wreathed in the dead, dried, crumbling remains of years-old flowers.

A roadside shrine.

Someone had died here - surely a hit and run by that car.

“No time for chitchat,” Cas said sternly. Confused, Dean turned back to him. The glow on his face  _ now  _ was from his cell phone, pressed to his ear. “There’s a ghost haunting Route 23.” Dean could just make out the timber of the voice on the other hand - male, certainly - but Cas cut him off again. “My guess is we didn’t know because it’s one of those annual ‘don’t be a pedestrian at this precise location on the anniversary of their death’ cases. Which, considering how far out of town we are, wouldn’t come up often. Depending on the cycle of their manifestations, tonight might be our only opportunity to grant this person release for months or years to come. Let’s meet at my house and see what we can learn. There’s a shrine here - the paint for the name is too peeled to read but I think the date is January 12th - today - but in nineteen-hundred-and-something. It’s a start.” 

The man to whom Cas spoke clucked a confirmation and Cas hung up.

The  _ normalest _ .

“Come on, Dog.”

Dean had been right from the get-go. He should have left. A gust of wind smelled of the open forest and roaming animals and distant farms. 

Dean could  _ still  _ leave.

“We have to get home.”

But Cas was going on a Hunt and Dean  _ could  _ help and he  _ wanted  _ to go home with Cas and the phone was no longer out but the son of a bitch was glowing again. 

Dad would have Dean’s hide for boots if he could see Dean following Cas back to Pontiac despite all his suspicions.

What the  _ hell  _ had Dean gotten himself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh so I mentioned the potato was sick? Well he's feeling better, and nugget seems to have dodged the bullet, but my wife and I are both down for the count. She's sicker than I, and she called into work, and today could go one of two ways.   
> Either I'll feel too shitty to accomplish anything else (part of why I've managed to get things out this week is that I've been getting a jump start on the next scene the day before I post it, but I don't have the energy right now).  
> Or my wife will feel well enough to maybe help with the kids a little and I might actually have a little *more* time to accomplish shit, maybe even get the next scene up.  
> There's no knowing.  
> Time will tell...


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the well-wishes, everybody! We're managing. Life goes on, one minute, one hour, and one day at a time - we'll get better.
> 
> By the way, enough people have expressed kind wishes for my family, I thought ya'll might like to see a couple pictures.
> 
> My wife, myself and the nugget in our Halloween costumes:  
> 
> 
> Me and the boys on Tuesday after we voted:  
> 
> 
> And now that the happy is done...
> 
> ...hope ya'll are ready for some angst...
> 
> *evil writer grin*

“Only you, Cas!” 

The familiar scent of the blonde woman wafted through the room as she called from the entry hall. Cas had been sitting on the couch, Dean at his side, both pretending to pay attention to Dr. Sexy, both jittery, but at the ring of her voice Cas leapt to his feet and strode from the living room. 

“Only  _ you  _ could go for a jog and find a Hunt in the middle of nowhere in the fucking depths of  _ winter _ .” 

Dean trailed in Cas’ wake, unsure what his role would be in the evening to come. Was even Cas weird enough to bring his a dog on a hunt? Why would he? Despite all the incandescent neon blue  arrows pointing out that Cas wasn’t normal, Dean had done his best to act like a dog, and was pretty sure he’d succeeded. Despite his habit of talking at Dean like Dean understood, Cas hadn’t  _ actually  _ given any indication he thought Dean was anything other than a dog.

And who the  _ fuck  _ would bring a dog on a Hunt?

...well...Bobby used to...and Cas might…

...Dean wanted him to...if Dean just invited himself along, maybe…

Cas was fricken glowing again.

The woman didn’t even bat an eyelash to see her friend casually shining.

“Wait, I know why you ran into this ghost.”

Cause friends serving as nightlights was completely fucking normal.

_ I have a bad feeling about this... _ Han Solo’s gruff voice whispered suspicion in Dean’s head.

“It’s ‘cause only you would be psycho enough to run outside this time of year.”

The door was still open, cold air blowing in. 

“I swear, one of these years, you’re going slip on the ice and break a leg and  _ then  _ what will any of us do?”

Something smelled...wrong. 

Really, really fucking wrong. 

Burnt-out engine wrong.

Baby shit wrong.

“You and Sam are the most capable Hunters I’ve ever met or beenHunted by. I’ve faith that you’ll be fine if you need to Hunt without me for four to six weeks.” Cas replied blandly, matter of factly, smiling at the woman and the door she held open to reveal the night beyond, a black void that Dean’s eyes couldn’t penetrate but his nose wrinkled at.

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that time we tried to gank you. No harm, no foul, right?”

Toxic dump wrong. 

Flesh-eating gangrene wrong. 

“My dear Jo, you must know I forgave you months ago.”

Poisonous swamp gas wrong.

Rotting maggot-infested animal carcass  _ wrong _ .

“Uh huh. Yeah. That’s why you bring it up still. Cause we’re  _ so  _ forgiven.”

_ Demon  _ wrong.

“I’m sorry. I find it amusing, but if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll--”

Baring his teeth, edging further into the safety of the house, Dean growled. Surprise permeated the room and both humans turned to him.

“Dog?”

The scent grew stronger as rustles and thumping footsteps outside approaching.  _ That  _ was the sickly aroma that had wafted from the woman the first time they’d met. She was human herself but she  _ reeked  _ of demon like she’d been rolling in the pits of Hell the way dogs rolled in shit. Dean’s hackles rose, his tail lifted behind him, his eyes narrowed.

Something was coming.

Something was  _ here _ .

A man stepped into the doorway.

“Jo’s right,” the man said.

_ Sam  _ said.

_ Dean’s  _ Sam.

_ Impossible. _

“You gotta look after yourself.”

_ Sam  _ reeked of demon.

_ Beyond impossible. _

“No, I don’t.” Cas’ incongruous laughter only made Dean more alert, more convinced that something was  _ broken  _ in the world. “I have Dog to look after me.”

“Yeah, I can see that…” Sam’s scent turned nervous. “I thought he was friendly?”

_ Nervous  _ demon smelled even worse than  _ regular  _ demon.

Maybe this was a trap for Cas. Cas was a Hunter. 

Cas was a  _ monster _ \- he and this Jo bitch were  _ joking  _ about  _ hunting  _ him.

Maybe…

Maybe…

...maybe a demon had possessed the man...possessed  _ Sam fucking Winchester _ , Dean’s  _ brother _ , standing in the doorway…

...and it was all too much, far too much - too much scent, too much noice, too much light, too much self-condemnation…

_ Too. Much. _

Dean needed out. He  _ had  _ to escape. He’d be  _ damned  _ for thinking of this place as home, for getting attached, for staying, for getting complacent.

“He is, usually,” said Cas, puzzled. He dropped to a squat before Dean. “What’s the matter, Dog?” He held out a hand. 

Dean skittered back, trying to focus on Cas and Jo and Sam at the same time. Their confusion swamped him and made him even more tense. Jo had smelled like demon  _ weeks  _ ago, and there was no reason for a demon to wait, and Cas knew Sam, and Sam was a demon, and Sam and Jo had Hunted Cas, and Cas was a monster, and Dean’s fucking  _ brother  _ was  _ standing in the entry foyer _ , and what if, what if, what if…

“Hey there, boy,” Sam said, getting to his knees and reaching out. “Sorry if I freaked you out.”

Dean’s lips rolled back, his sharp teeth at the ready. If this  _ monster  _ wearing his brother fucking touched him...

“It’s the blood drinking thing,” Jo chuckled behind him.

Chuckled.

Like it was a fucking  _ joke _ .

Dean’s world washed red - and fuck that dogs couldn’t  _ see  _ red, ‘cause Dean normally couldn’t but he  _ remembered _ , he  _ knew _ , and fury and fear boiled through him.

“Some dogs don’t notice and others, well…”

_ Stay away. Stay back. I will fucking  _ kill you _ for what you did to Sammy, for what I let happen to Sammy when I left. _

“Dog, you’ve met my friend Jo, and this is her boyfriend, Sam.” As Cas spoke, Sam edged forward, fingers coming steadily closer, horrid sulfurous scent intensifying. 

_ Where the fuck is Dad? How could  _ he  _ let this happen? _

“They’re here to help with the ghost we found. They--”

Sam’s finger brushed Dean’s snout.

With a frenzied bark, Dean snapped before him, catching flesh, tasting acrid blood.

“Dog!”

An arm wrapped powerfully around Dean’s shoulders and he threw himself back, sending Cas sprawling. Biting and snarling, Dean rounded on Cas -  _ he’s part of this, he knew, I  _ knew  _ he was a monster, should have trusted myself, shouldn’t have trusted  _ any-fucking-one  _ else, never before, never now, never again _ \- and bit into Cas’ arm. Skin and hair and blood - none of which tasted like barbecue sauce, and all of which tasted subtly  _ wrong  _ \- tore off in his teeth. 

“ _ Move  _ Cas!” Jo shouted. Something in her hand glinted in the light - a gun, Dean could smell the powder - and she aimed toward him.

“No!” Cas’ answering cry was tight with pain, but he threw himself between the furious Jo and Dean.

_...too much, far too much, so so too much _ …

With a last snap at air -  _ don’t you assholes dare follow me or I will rip you to shreds!  _ \- Dean bolted for the back of the house. The kitchen was mercifully dark. The back door was locked, but Dean’s momentum carried him into it, body slamming against the flimsy wood. That gave him pause and he stood, trembling. He’d deluded himself. Freedom  _ wasn’t  _ his choice. It was Cas’. Dean couldn’t even open the fucking door…

...unless he changed to a human…

...not an option, never an option,  _ especially  _ not with Sam there. What if that somehow that really  _ was  _ Sam? What if Sam  _ recognized  _ him? The taste of blood stung his tongue, reminded him of every impossibility confronting him. The stink of demon and blood and Jo and barbecue sauce filled every inhalation. The three humans... _ humans _ ?...Hunters?...the three  _ fucking fuckers _ confronting him shouted an argument in the front room, voices reverberating, and Dean couldn’t concentrate to sort through what they were saying, didn’t want to know.

As long as they fought, they weren’t coming after him.

He had to get. the fuck. out.

The door was a piece of shit. He could claw through it. The first few swipes of his paws shattered the outer layer of wood, revealing fiberboard beneath. Dust coated his nose, mercifully blocking the competing scents of the not-so-humans in the house. Splinters and door fragments scattered on the tiles beneath him. He was so close to breaking through - so  _ close  _ \- he got his feet under him for a push with his body weight, but a chunk of fiberboar caught beneath him and bits of wood pricked his pads and his paws went out from under him. He slammed into the floor so hard his teeth rattled. Chest heaving with his burst of effort, Dean lay there, gathering himself for one final, conclusive push.

“Dog?”

Shit.

A growl rumbled low in Dean’s throat.

“What happened out there?”

_ Stop expecting me to answer, you jackass. I’m never going to. I’d never have let you in as much as I have if I hadn’t thought you were a  _ human _ , and whatever the fuck you actually are...you lied to me, tricked me… _

_...you made me feel things I thought I’d never… _

“You’re upset. You’re angry. Of course. This is my fault. I should have realized that Sam’s scent would be a trigger for you. I should have warned you, but I’m so used to him it didn’t even occur to me. I’m so sorry.”

Dean got his feet under him and slinked around to face Cas. The Hunter-Monster-Barbecue Sauce-reeking  _ not-human  _ stood in the doorway, a black shadow against the bright light from the hall. Dean keeping his back to the door. In a pinch, he could force his way through.

_ In a pinch, I could jump onto the counters and break through a window. _

_ Am I not even going to think about how Cas is admitting he knows Sam is a monster, admitting he betrayed my trust, admitting-- _

“I know you’re a skinwalker.”

Dean froze.

“I’ve known since the beginning. I assumed you knew that, from how you behaved...since it’s common knowledge, or, well, you know what I mean...it’s known that djinn are empathic. But now, how you’re acting...I fear I’ve misjudged this situation badly, and the outcome has hurt you gravely.”

Numb, Dean could only blink at Cas’ blurry form.

_ Did I seriously think thirty fucking seconds ago that he betrayed my trust? _

_ I had no fucking idea. _

_ And he’s standing there, arm bleeding, worried that  _ he  _ hurt  _ me _? _

“We need to talk. Actually talk, not just...me talking at you, and getting a sense of your emotions in return.”

_ No wonder I thought I was happy. No wonder he’s fucking impossibly accepting and friendly and kind and likeable and...fucking hell. This has all been some fucked up djinn dream. _

Cas took a hesitant step forward and Dean dropped into a defensive position, head low to the ground, ass up, back legs tensed to spring.

_ And if I’d listened to Dad like I oughta all those years, I’d have seen the signs, and instead I missed it all cause I’m a fucking  _ moron _. _

_ Who other than my dream dude would ever,  _ ever  _ smell like barbecue sauce? _

“May I open the door for you?” Cas asked. His tone was over-gentle, like he thought somehow he could calm Dean by speaking - like he was talking to a wild animal. Cas had never taken that tone with Dean, had always spoken like they were equals.

_ Because he  _ knew _ , he knew all along, and he let me think… _

Suspiciously, Dean edged aside. Cas crossed the room, telegraphing each slow movement, skirting the far wall to give Dean space. His injured arm was clutched to his chest, scent of blood strong even to Dean’s sawdust-repressed senses. With his off hand, Cas awkwardly unlocked the kitchen door and pulled it open. Frigid air gusted in, making dust devils of the splinters on the ground.

“You have a choice, Dog. You’ve  _ always  _ had a choice. Unfortunately, I can’t simply overlook...I can’t say that what you’ve just done is  _ fine _ , but if you don’t want to have a conversation with me...you can go. I won’t stop you.”

Cas stepped back from the doorway.

“But if you want to stay...I’m sorry to say...we  _ must  _ speak.”

Dean crept forward, one awkward, wary step at a time, toward escape and freedom.

_ Like  _ hell  _ I’m showing you even more of myself than I already have. Am I supposed to think it’s some huge coinky-dink that my brother - no, the disgusting son of a bitch wearing my brother as a meat suit - is standing in your entryway? Am I supposed to pretend you couldn’t have told me the truth at any time, pretend you didn’t  _ choose  _ to deceive me? _

Outside smelled fresh, clean, pure...not a trace of a monster, not even a whiff of the skinwalkers or any of the other creatures he’d scented over the weeks.

“I hope you’ll stay. I  _ want  _ to talk. I want to Hunt with you. I’ve hoped all along you’d trust me, but I suppose that was too much to ask, tried to be open with you.

_ ‘Open with me’ my left one, you didn’t even tell you were a fucking  _ djinn _ , Cas! _

The weather had shifted since their run, though only a couple hours had passed. A sharp breeze blew from the north, carrying the smell of a storm rolling in.

It was  _ really  _ cold.

Dean hesitated. 

It was nice to be warm, nice to be comfortable, nice to be well fed and cared for.

The foolish, naive part of him that had decided to stay time and time again...still wanted to stay.

Cas gasped - _hell, how did I not notice that he reacted every time I_ wanted _, everytime I_ wished _? I’m such a useless, duped_ idiot \- and glowed.

_ I knew he wasn’t human - I suspected, and I  _ should  _ have known - and I chose to stay anyway. It’s bullshit to say this is his fault.  _

_ I have no one to blame but myself. _

Of all the terrible houses he’d left - places where he’d been starved, or beaten, or confined, or neglected - Dean had never been happier nor more grateful to put someplace behind him as when he loped out of Cas’ house and left the whole mess behind him.

_ Yeah. Right. Maybe if I keep telling myself that, I’ll even come to believe it. _

“I’ll miss you.” Cas’ voice was barely audible over the crunch of snow beneath Dean’s paws. He’d not been meant to hear, he thought. Cas didn’t  _ really  _ understand the acuity of Dean’s hearing.

_ I’ll miss you, too. _

_ Or at least, I’ll miss the person, the human, I thought you were. _

_ I should have known better. _

“Good bye, Dog.”

_ Bye, Cas. _

_ It’s been...nice. _

_ But none of it was real. _

Dean stepped into the woods, and the house faded into the shadows behind him.

Good riddance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know ya'll have had a lot of questions...
> 
> ...here are some of the answers...
> 
> ...hope you like um...
> 
> *even more evil writer grin*


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, note that I've added a tag for suicidal thoughts just cause Dean's self-destructive impulses are a little more pronounced in this chapter and I don't want to risk triggering anyone. Sorry this wasn't tagged sooner!
> 
> Also thanks for all the nice things ya'll said about my family. You're seriously the sweetest. <3

Snow fell, wet and heavy, dampening the world in white. The breeze had died. Visibility was nil, and the only smell was dampness. The ground was buried inches deep, the roads unplowed. Every tree, every house, every fence post, every mailbox, was an indistinguishable shadowed mound. No prints marred the twinkling ground. No sound broke the night save the whisper of snow on snow.

_ What if I stay in Pontiac long enough to deal with the Beagle bastards? _

The farmhouse was quiet and dark. Not a creature stirred.

_ What if I stormed the house? _

No one, from the smallest flea to the biggest buck, was stupid enough to be outside on a night like this.

_...storming the house will get me killed... _

Except Dean.

_ What if I don’t care? _

A week stalking the fields around the house, a week out in the cold, a week going hungry, had Dean thinking stupid shit. Like that he could take the skinwalkers out. 

_ What if when I bit Cas and Sam, I turned them? _

Despite being monsters, they were impressively clean and neat and stuck to simple daily routines. They cared for the cows and chickens in their barn. They exercised the puppies...the  _ children _ ...in a large dog run half-subsumed by snow drifts. They woke up promptly at the same time every day - 6 AM, Dean thought, though he didn’t have a clock - and the lights went out in the entire house simultaneously each evening. 

_ What if I’d stayed and talked to Cas like he asked? _

The routine was predictable, undeviating...and invulnerable. None of the Beagles went anywhere alone. Even the barn animals were tended to by two of the adults, though which two varied from day to day.

_ What if they know there are Hunters in the area? _

The question was idiotic. The skinwalkers shared Dean’s sense of smell. They  _ must  _ know about the Hunters active.

_ What if they know I’m here? _

They were  _ real  _ skinwalkers, trained since birth to fulfill their so-called mission. They must know there was a demon in Pontiac - which Dean hadn’t managed to scent even though Cas and Sam were friends. They must know Cas was a djinn. They must know all the shit that Dean was too fricken stupid and too garbage at being a dog to work out for himself.

_ What if Cas isn’t an EMT? All those nights he left he was out he was Hunting. Without me. _

The Beagles rarely left the farmhouse vicinity, but when they did they drove, and when they returned, the bags they pulled from the trunk of their van smelled of groceries and shampoo and other necessities. Totally ordinary.

_ What if I just...left?  _

Maybe there was some way to lure one of the skinwalkers away. 

_ Cas and Sam and Jo are monsters but they’re also, apparently, Hunters - guess they don’t want any competition - they can deal with this bullshit. Hell, there are three of them, and only one of me, they’d do a better job than I could. _

Maybe there was a way to use himself as bait. 

_ What if they decide to Hunt  _ me _? _

Maybe he could infiltrate the house. 

_ What if that’s precisely what I deserve? _

Maybe he could sabotage their car or some shit. 

_ What if I set the fucking place on fire? _

Life at the farmhouse was so domestic. Watching them and shivering, fur a solid mass of ice, gave Dean stupid ideas.

_ What if they’re not monsters?  _

There were eight adult skinwalkers at the house, four of whom were close blood relatives, the others their apparent spouses. There were thirteen puppies, though there had been fourteen. One was sold a few days ago. As far as Dean knew, the parents hadn’t shed a tear when they sent their child off. Because they weren’t human. The level of loyalty most skinwalkers showed to the alpha’s twisted, silly, impossible vision of world domination was ridiculous.

_ What if the skinwalkers are just looking for good homes for their kids?  _

They were  _ definitely  _ monsters - they  _ sold skinwalker puppies to unsuspecting human families _ , for fuck’s sake, that was full-on monster territory even if the puppies never bit anyone.

_ What if Sam isn’t a demon?  _

And Dean was thinking about ganking them, even the litter of pups so young they hadn’t opened their eyes yet.

_ What if the only monster in this scenario is me? _

They were so fucking cute. But they were monsters. They needed to die.

_ What if I’m wrong?  _

Watching the boring-ass house, Dean had an unhealthy amount of time to think, a ridiculous amount of time alone with himself.

_ What if I’m wrong about everything? _

He  _ hated  _ being alone with nothing to focus on.

_ What if...what if Cas assumed I knew he wasn’t human? _

Oh, fuck. How had that  _ never  _ occurred to Dean before?

_ What if he figured I wasn’t a broken, useless piece of shit - what if he assumed I could smell what was so fucking obvious? _

Staring at the house was futile. Hunting the skinwalkers was futile. There was only one sure way Dean knew of to decrease the number of monsters in the world by one, and he couldn’t bring himself to do that. Stupidly, he still believed he had something to contribute, still believed there was some good he could do in the world. 

_ What if this is all one enormous ridiculously fucking stupid misunderstanding? _

Even though he was a monster. 

_ What if it doesn’t matter now? _

Dean made his weary way to the den he’d dug himself out of the ice accumulated in the cornfield’s windbreak.

_ What if I stop thinking stupid shit, stop letting my brain spew bullshit, and focus on this Hunt? _

Every monster had a vulnerability. Dad had sometimes scouted targets for weeks, months, leaving Dean to watch Sammy while Dad focused on the legwork with no distractions. Cas was a distraction. Sam was a distraction. The snow was a distraction. Dean’s thoughts were a useless bullshit excuse of a distraction. If Dean watched long enough, one of the skinwalkers would deviate from their routine. One of the skinwalkers would forget to be cautious. One of the skinwalkers would make a mistake. Then Dean could strike.

_ What if Cas would take me back? _

Every monster had a vulnerability.

Apparently, Cas was Dean’s.

_ Fuck _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...based on ya'll's comments, I've reason to think that a lot fewer people read tags than I thought read tags.
> 
> And it's making me nervous. Because this story has gained more of a following than I ever anticipated, and I don't want anyone to read weird shit they're not comfortable.
> 
> So. Just in case you didn't see the tags and hadn't realized where things were going.
> 
> This fic will ultimately be **explicit** and Dean spends a bunch of his time as a **dog** and this would be far from the first time I've written **sentient creature beastiality** and I really don't want that to take anyone by surprise because I promise it IS coming. (and coming, and coming, and coming).
> 
> This has been your PSA for the day.
> 
> I suspect I won't get a chapter up tomorrow because I think the next scene will be another one that runs long, but I'll do my best!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, guys, I am so so sorry to add a Major Archive Warning this far into a story but writing this chapter, I really couldn't justify not tagging this story with Graphic Depictions of Violence. fwiw this chapter should be the worst of it. If this is deal breaking for any of ya'll please let me know, I can add some flags to let you know which paragraphs/parts to skip so you won't read the gross and can still follow the rest of the story.

Dean awoke abruptly from a deep sleep and a pleasant dream tinged in blue.

The wind had changed.

Fatigue sloughing away, Dean launched himself to his feet and trudged through the thick snow. His conscious awareness of what had happened lagged behind his instinctual reaction.

The skinwalkers were on the move.

The white snow of the cornfield was pierced by moving dark blobs, identifiable as adult beagles by his sense of smell. Lighter and more deft on their feet than Dean, they were able to walk atop the snow. Though he wanted to pace them, to keep up, the foot of snow that had fallen most recently was wet and heavy, to slushy to support him, too dense to be easy to walk through. The skinwalkers made haste, vanishing into the bramble of the forest beyond, as Dean made his slow way after them.

Whatever. Dean didn’t need to be able to see them to follow them. Their trail  _ reeked _ .

Cutting across the field would leave an obvious furrow and give Dean away to the remaining beagles, so he kept to the outskirts, picking his way around obstacles, scrambling free of ditches hidden by the snow drifts. He’d have opportunity to catch up once he was in the forest, where the trees and undergrowth forced the snow into mounds and left cleared voids. The beagles made no effort to hide their passage, which suggested they didn’t know that Dean had been stalking their home for days, didn’t know he was following them now.

Either that, or they were laying a trap for him.

By the time he reached the place where they entered the woods, he was achy and soaked. With a single shake, he dislodged what he could of the sludge tangled in his fur and then sprinted after his quarry. If he lost them in the forest, he’d never forgive himself. Two fucking  _ weeks  _ of surveillance and this was his first chance - probably his  _ only  _ chance - to catch any of these bastards away from the pack. Now that he could scent their trail directly, he identified four individuals: a mated couple and two siblings. Half of the adult skinwalkers at the house.

More than Dean could take out himself.

Fuck that. He had to try.

Nose to the ground, Dean ran. The night was, for a change, mild, the wind calm. The skinwalkers skirted the same obstacles that would have stymied Dean, forging a winding path that tended roughly southeast through the woods. The way was familiar - the inverse of the route Dean had taken when he’d followed the distant smell of skinwalkers. Heck, his own scent, weeks old, still lingered in places.

The skinwalkers  _ must  _ know Dean was in the vicinity of Pontiac.

Following them was bone dumb, just  _ asking  _ for trouble.

Then again...Dean had never met a rogue skinwalker. There would be no reason for them to think Dean a threat. They might even think he was their ally.

_ Unless I  _ have  _ met other rogue skinwalkers, and I was just too fuckin’  _ sure  _ they were monsters to give a shit.  _

Either way, he was gonna follow them, and find them, and gank the fuckers.

_ That’d fucking suck but it’s too late to apologize to their Goddamn corpses, and I’ve got work to do _ .

Dead men told no tales. Bite first, ask questions later. All that tough guy bullshit. Dean had more important things to do than go all introspective during a hunt. The skinwalkers had to die.

_ More proof that the only monster out here is me. _

Animals scattered from his wake; though he smelled fresh signs of deer and birds, squirrels and mice, he didn’t see a single feather, didn’t hear the smallest peep. The natural creatures fled before the five skinwalkers in their midst.

_ Fuck that...I put up with a  _ lot  _ of my own self-deprecating bullshit but I scented a fucking  _ wendigo _ and the only way to become a wendigo is to engage in fricken cannibalism. _

The nearby scent of garbage and motor oil suggested human habitation nearby, but the skinwalker’s path avoided it. Dean tried to picture their surroundings, to imagine the familiar scents of Pontiac, but he was moving so quickly, his attention so focused on the skinwalkers’ wake, that he couldn’t focus to place himself.

_ Some other monsters are  _ definitely  _ monsters. _

His location didn’t matter. Wherever the beagles went, Dean would go.

_ But I should know...should have known...better than anyone that humanity and inhumanity are not black and white. _

Even if they led him to an ambush. The skinwalkers coming for him was no more nor less than he deserved.

_ Dad’d tan my ass if he knew I was considering that skinwalkers weren’t actually monsters. _

Cold air burned at Dean’s lungs, burst out on each exhale as a billowing cloud that trailed behind him.

_ Right. Of course. Cause all this shit in my head is about the beagles. Call a dick, a dick, Dean. _

Running was  _ hard _ . Days in the cold, days with only scrawny chipmunks to stop the rumbling of his stomach, had ill prepared him for a miles-long pursuit.

_ Dad’d tan my ass if he knew I was considering djinn and a fricken  _ demon  _ weren’t actually monsters.  _

Maybe Dean should just...not bother. Not hunt. Not chase them. Not stay in Pontiac.

_ Even if that demon looked like Sammy. _

Not  _ think _ .

_ Stop. Make like Elsa and fucking  _ let it go _. Sam and Cas are in my past, just like the dead skinwalkers are in my past., just like Dad is in my past. There’s nothing to think about, nothing to do, nothing to change. What’s done is done. What’s dead stays dead, and what’s monstrous stays monstrous. There ain’t no coming back from some things. _

_ All I gotta do is finish up this hunt and move on with my sad excuse for a life. _

The skinwalker stink turned suddenly north, nothing distinctive about the forest to suggest why they’d turned there. They’d increased their lead, their scent maybe five minutes old. Not until a burst of brilliant light dazzled his vision did Dean realize one of the roads was just to his right, that the skinwalkers had turned so they could shadow it, out of sight of passing vehicles but in easy scent range of anything or anyone passing by. Dean kept to the shadows as they had done, wary of being seen, pushing himself to make up the distance between them.

_ Why would they _ \-- _? _

A distant scream cut through the familiar sounds of night, pierced Dean through the chest like a fucking icicle to the heart.

_ Cas _ .

Fuck keeping out of sight of the road.

_ Cas runs on these country highways every fucking night. _

Dean didn’t give a flying fuck who saw him.

_ The skinwalkers know I’m here, know there are Hunters here. _

Dodging through the tree trunks, Dean emerged onto the narrow road shoulder.

_ Maybe they knew about Cas and his buddies, since before I ever came into the picture. _

Salt stung his paws. Ice stabbed him. Frigid air scalded his throat and lungs. It didn’t matter.

_ Maybe they’ve been planning this for months. _

A car went by, splashing Dean with chunky slush. It didn’t matter.

_ Or maybe they didn’t figure out there were hunters in the area until I, fucking dipshit moron that I am, obliviously, flagrantly paraded through their territory day in and day out and drew attention to us. _

The scent of barbecue sauce lay thick along the road. Cas had passed meer minutes ago. 

_ When they’ve been out driving they must have scented that every damn night, Cas went for a run with a skinwalker at his side… _

Aside from the scream, Dean hadn’t heard another peep.

_...until, two weeks ago, when I threw my fuckin’ hissy fit, and left Cas to do his jogs alone again. If they’ve hurt him... _

Dean put his head down and  _ sprinted _ ..

_ I will  _ end  _ them. _

The road swung a hard left and the scene unfolded before Dean in lurid detail. Three beagles stalked and circled Cas, who knelt in a defensive posture, pivoting to face his attackers. Light pooled around them,  _ blue _ light, Cas glowing incandescent in the deep darkness. Smells layered on smells - dog fur, gasoline, antifreeze, barbecue sauce, salt, blood. Dean’s panting, loud in his ears, drowned out other noises.

_ But shit...shit...where is the fourth-- _

A blob of white and brown leapt from the black forest toward Cas’ unguarded back.

With a snarl and a burst of strength, Dean sprang forward and intercepted into the skinwalker.

“Dog!”

Teeth snapped against teeth, growls and choked off barks punctuating each lunge and clawing strike. Vision was useless; scent and heat guided Dean to his target. He catching fur and skin in his mouth as he tore and fought. Pain bloomed along his side, flared in one of his back legs - there was a second beagle on his back, gnashing at him - but he ignored it aside from an idle kick, focused on his target. The throbbing of his opponents throat was a pulse of heat and sound like a drumbeat in Dean’s head. Her blood reeked of copper and the skinwalker disease as it flowed in her veins and splashed onto the pavement from the wounds Dean had torn open. Bearing down, Dean went for the pulse point and  _ bit _ . The angry growls gave way to frantic whimpers. Pressure pulled back against his teeth as his prey tried to escape.

Fuck that.

Dean eased his jaw grip, surged forward, encircled her neck with his jaw, and shook. With a wet sound, her throat gave way. The smell of her blood went instantly sour. The  _ thump-ba-thump  _ of her heartbeat went silent. Claws tore at his back, ripped at his fur; teeth snapped at his hamstrings. Dean wheeled around, knocking his attackers free, sending the corpse of the one he’d killed sailing into the woods.

Her jugular and throat were still in his mouth, gore dripping down his chin and down his throat. His growl gurgled, guttural, as he rounded on his next target. Blue flared around them as Dean launched ahead, grappling paw-to-paw, snout-to-snout, teeth-clattering-teeth with the largest of the four skinwalkers. Dean’s size had been a disadvantage in his surveillance, a disadvantage in his pursuit, but now it was a decisive, essential advantage. Even enraged by the death of their packmate, the beagle didn’t stand a fricken chance against Dean’s weight and strength. The monster tumbled to his back beneath Dean, scrambling at the pavement in a vain effort to get his paws back under him. Jaws dug into the scruff at the nape of Dean’s neck, but the weight of another skinwalker on his back was negligible; he ignored it as he bore down on the one before him. 

_ Yip, yip, yip! _

_ Mercy, brother, don’t kill me!  _ those barks seemed to say.

Fuck that.

Dean only had one brother, and if Sammy really was a demon, Dean would destroy his ass, too.

Pressing into the skinwalker with his jaw and front legs and weight, Dean shattered his rib cage. He yelped in agony, wheezing out his life. 

The one on Dean’s back leapt away, only for new pressure to land on him. Dean rounded, lips curled back to bare his teeth, but it was Cas. The tattoos wreathing his neck shone like a blue sun, light leaking from beneath his jacket cuffs and pant legs. He breathed heavily, a pained hiss punctuating each exhale. Leaning into the contact, Dean waited for the next attack.

None came.

Blood reeked, toxic in the damp night air. It coated the road, running in rivulets through the rumble strips. It formed a wretched scent halo in the woods where Dean had tossed aside the first dog he’d killed. It coated Dean’s snout, his teeth, his tongue, his fur, his skin. With a last rasping rattle, the one Dean had crushed died. Snarfling through the blood clogging his nose, Dean tracked a third skinwalker to the snow-buried verge, where it lay unmoving. The smell it emanated was noxious - not blood, there wasn’t a wound on him, but something worse.

Djinn poison.

_ Did I ever actually come up with any evidence that everything I’ve experience since meeting Cas isn’t some kind of fucked up djinn dream? _

Fucking hell.

_ Do I care anymore? _

The last dog stood stared them down from feet away, hackles up, teeth exposed. 

_ Not even a little. _

She stank of blood, but none was her own. 

_ Cas needed me, and I’m here. _

None was Cas’, either.

_ Because I need Cas. _

She reeked of Dean.

_ I should never have left him...I should never have left home. _

Pain cascaded into Dean’s awareness. In the adrenaline of battle it had seemed distant, but with moments to gather himself he became agonizingly aware that he  _ wasn’t okay _ . The beagle stalked toward them; Dean tried to drop into an aggressive stance to intimidate the skinwalker but the world spun in blue streaks and he collapsed to the icy road, legs splaying out.

“Dog!”

_ Have to get up - have to keep it from Cas - if it bites him - if it hurts him-- _

_ \--I’ll fucking kill you, you fucking son of a bitch! I will  _ destroy _ you, and your entire nest of God-forsaken spawn, and-- _

Gathering himself, a growl rolling in his belly, Dean rose. His front legs trembled with fatigue and hunger and cold and strain; one of his back legs wouldn’t support weight. Blood softly  _ plopped, plopped, plopped  _ to the ground beneath him.

The beagle hummed a rebuke.

“You’ve done enough, Dog,” said Cas calmly, rising and stepping forward. Filaments of blue swirled around his outstretched hand as he placed himself between the skinwalker and Dean. “Hellspawn, you will leave this place, or I  _ will  _ kill you.”

Dean growled.

Wild-eyed, the beagle looked at Dean, looked at Cas, and bolted into the night.

Dean’s legs went out from under him. His belly slammed to the pavement and he yelped in pain. 

_ What if it comes back? _

He tried to stand. 

_ I have to...have to… _

He  _ couldn’t _ .

Fuck.

Struggling, he blinked against his agony, and when he opened his eyes Cas knelt before him, a hand held toward him. Dean should be afraid of Cas’ touch...there was some reason...that had been blue, hadn’t it?...but he couldn’t muster any fear.

Cas smelled so good, his touch was so gentle...Cas wouldn’t hurt Dean.

Dean edged forward, unable to repress a whimper, and darted out his tongue to savor the sweet flavor of Cas’ calloused skin.

The hand moved, and Dean sighed a bereft, unhappy noise.

_ Cas... _

“I’m here, Dog.” Cas’ hand returned, clutching his cell phone. Dean sniffed Cas gratefully and tried again to rise. “No - no, don’t move.”

Dean snuffled the air. The scent of skinwalker blood - the beagles, his own - was overwhelming, but there was a faint thread of djinn smell beneath that. It didn’t seem so wrong to him as when he’d bitten Cas’ arm two weeks back.

_ There’s no way Cas is a monster.  _

“You’re hurt.”

_ It’s as impossible as Sammy being a demon. _

“I’ve got to get you ho...Dog,  _ we  _ have to get you  _ home _ .”

_ Thank fricken God Cas is okay. _

_ I shouldn’t care. _

_ But I do. _

_ He’s okay. He’s awesome. _

Dean’s sigh was content as he let his eyes slip shut.

The world smelled like Cas. The soft rumble of Cas’ voice as he made a call was soothing in Dean’s ears, a balm to Dean’s fatigue. 

He didn’t hurt anymore.

Cas would take him back.

Cas would take him  _ home _ .

“You’re going to be okay.” 

_ I’m so glad at least one of us isn’t a monster. _

_ Cas is so much more than I deserve. _

“Rest easy, Dog.”

Dean gratefully obeyed.

Cas was there.

Everything was going to be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh sorry if this chapter is a mess I was really trying to get it done by the potato kept interrupting and I really have to do his bedtime and so fuck it I'm putting it in AO3 and hitting post and crossing my fingers that ya'll like it.


	12. Chapter 12

Dean floated.

_ “Cas, even for you, this is insane. We’ve got to take him to a doctor.” _

_ “Yes, of course, why didn’t I think of that? We can explain in detail how he came to look like he went three-on-one in a dog fighting ring.” _

_ “Just say he was attacked by wild dogs! Trust me, it happens all the damn time. Too many farmer assholes let their dogs wander loose.” _

_ “Or you could help him.” _

_ “I’m a vet tech, Cas. Not a vet. A vet  _ tech _!” _

_ “So you won’t help him?” _

_ “Why won’t you take him in?” _

_ “Because he’s not ‘just’ a dog, and until we know what that means about his biology, I’m not letting any human who isn’t ‘in the know’ examine his injuries. The only MD  _ I’ll  _ see is Meg. Would  _ you  _ let a doctor you hadn’t vetted give you a check up?” _

_ “...no…I hear ya...but Cas, this is so far outside my expertise. I might kill him by accident. I don’t...I can’t...” _

_ “Do what you can, Sam. And I’ll do what I can. It will have to be enough.” _

The lines between unconsciousness, sleep, and awareness were non-existent.

_ “It’s just a bite, dad! It’ll heal!” _

_ “No, it won’t, Dean. This ain’t a cold you caught at school. You’re never going to get better.” _

_ “That’s...that’s  _ nuts _!” _

_ “You got  _ bit _ , boy! You’re one of  _ them _ now!” _

_ “No...no!” _

_ “Yes. That’s what monsters  _ do.  _ You’re just like them, now. You’re a monster.” _

_ “But I could help us! I can turn into a dog! That’s gotta be helpful…” _

_ “Yeah? How?” _

_ “We could use this to help people!” _

_ “Another monster I gotta gank” _

_ “You’d...you’d  _ kill  _ me? You’d kill  _ me _?” _

_ “Not if you leave right now I won’t. But if I ever see you again I will Hunt your ass and you’ll get exactly what you deserve.” _

_ “But...but dad!” _

_ “Don’t call me that. Ain’t no son of mine. My son died. Killed by a skinwalker. Wouldn’t have happened if he’d a listened to me…” _

_ “Listened to you? I’ve done everything you ever asked!” _

_ “Get. Out.” _

_ “Son of--” _

_ “You gonna make me say it again, boy?” _

_ “Lemme say bye to Sammy. Please!” _

_ “You come within ten feet of my boy and you won’t see another sunrise. Understand?!” _

Blobs of color floated in his vision: black and white, blue and yellow, vibrant red and purple, beautiful green.

_ “You’re up early, Sammy. Did you have a bad dream? Did a cuddle? Need someone to scare the monster out from under your bed?” _

_ “You’re up earlier.” _

_ “So...yes. You little bitch. ‘Course I’ll chase away the boogie man. Always.” _

_ “Jerk. When’s dad coming back?” _

_ “He gets here when he gets here.” _

_ “Why does he always leave us alone?” _

_ “Because he’s a hero. He’s out there saving people. Someday, when we’re bigger, we’ll be able to help him.” _

_ “I’m not a kid anymore, Dean. You can tell me the truth.” _

_ “That’s the truth!” _

_ “I call bullshit. Heroes don’t--” _

_ “What do  _ you  _ know about heroes?” _

_ “More than you do! Heroes don’t kill indiscriminately. Heroes don’t hide and lie and steal all the time. Heroes don’t--” _

_ “I swear--” _

_ “Heroes don’t ditch their kids for weeks on end! Dean, he’s not--” _

_ Sammy!” _

_ “Dad’s no hero! He’s just another mon--” _

_ “I said  _ stop _.” _

_ “Fine.  _ Fine _. Even if I don’t say it, it’s true, and you know it. Why are you so obsessed with him? Don’t you want your own life?” _

_ “ _ This _ is our life! Just deal!” _

_ “‘Cause I do! I want to go to school and...and, I don’t know, gossip about pop stars, and do my homework, and get annoyed that I don’t have a drivers’ license, and do whatever normal kids do. Is that so wrong?” _

_ “For...for what it’s worth, Sammy...I wish you could have all that too. But you can’t. Neither of us can.” _

_ “Why  _ not _?” _

_ “Cause...cause dad’s a hero.” _

_ “I can’t wait ‘til I can get away from this shit excuse for a life, get away from this family. I can’t  _ wait _ ‘til I can get away from  _ you. _ ” _

Smells came and went, noxious and enticing, disgusting and delicious, none connected to anything in his head that could interpret the scents as having meaning.

_ “Is there  _ any  _ good news?” _

_ “...he’s breathing…” _

_ “That’s it?” _

_ “Look, Cas, what do you want me to say? He’s got three broken ribs. His back’s ripped open so bad I can see his three of his vertebrae. His ACL isn’t just torn - it’s fricken  _ gone _. And we’re operating on him on your coffee table and can’t even get him a blood transfusion.” _

_ “Hey, don’t look at me - I offered…” _

_ “Shut up, Meg. We’re not giving him  _ your  _ blood.” _

_ “So he’s dying.” _

_ “He  _ is  _ breathing. He’s fighting. It’s not impossible that he’ll recover. I wish I had something more reassuring to offer, but…” _

_ “It’s enough.” _

_ “It is?” _

_ “Yeaaaah...no...bullshit.” _

_ “It’ll have to be enough.” _

Distinguishing real sounds from imaginary was impossible.

_ “Dad...dad, what’s going on?” _

_ “It’s nothing, Sammy.” _

_ “Did Dean...did Dean  _ leave _?” _

_ “Go back to bed, my boy. We’ll talk in the morning.” _

The sour taste of blood coated his mouth no matter how many times he swallowed.

_ “Nice lips, boy...dick sicking lips...how much to take my turn?” _

_ “Twenty dollars.” _

_ “Whoa-ho...whore thinks he’s worth a damn...I’ve seen your type. Nothing you’re gonna do for me is worth more than ten smackers, and you should lick my asshole as thanks for giving you  _ that  _ much.” _

_ “Twenty. Dollars.” _

_ “Fine, fine...but at that price you better take every fucking inch, you hear me? And you’ll swallow every drop I fuck down your throat even if you choke on it. Understand?” _

_ “Just give me my money.” _

_ “Good boy. Gonna be so good for me, boy…” _

Pressure came and went from his skin, switched from his side to his belly to his back, inexplicably, with no sense that he’d moved or been moved.

_ “Aww, look at the cute doggy! Can we take him home?” _

_ “Uh…” _

_ “Please, mommy? Please please please please please?” _

_ “Darling, why don’t you consider this one?” _

_ “But…” _

_ “That one is a bad dog. Don’t you want a good dog?” _

_ “But that’s why I like him! He looks like a monster! A big furry monster! Monster dog, monster dog, monster dog…” _

_ “That’s nice, sweetie. Come on over here, meet this one - this is a much better, much nicer doggie…” _

The only constants were the nightmares and the pain.

_ “His fever’s spiked.” _

_ “There’s nothing more we can do. He’ll either pull through, or…you know...he won’t.” _

_ “He’ll recover. He’s a fighter. He’s going to be fine. You hear me, Dog? You’re going to be fine.” _

That was certainly a lie.

_ “Cas, I know you want to think that, but...some stories don’t have happy endings.” _

Dean had  _ never  _ been fine. 

_ “You’re wrong, Sam. All my stories have happy endings.” _

Dean would never  _ be _ fine. 

_ “Real life isn’t a djinn dream.” _

Monsters didn’t get to be fine.

_ “Who said anything about real life?” _

All Dean got was to live like a beast and die like a...like a  _ dog _ .

_ “Closer...come on, Dog, come a little closer...I’ll take care of you. I’ll keep you warm. Just...please don’t go.” _

Cas, at least, was...probably...real. 

_ “Stay with me.” _

Cas was  _ alive _ .

_ “Good Dog.” _

At least Dean had done one thing worth a damn with his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Important but spoilery note** : I got an ask on Tumblr that I think is important that I answer publicly for readers. _No puppies will be harmed in this story_. Dean will not be killing the puppies. Cas will not be killing the puppies. **No one** will be killing, or even physically harming, the puppies. I swear it. 
> 
> (I can't promise they won't have, like, long-term psychological consequences as a result of the adults being killed, but that is not a topic I'll be exploring in this story and, well, you can draw your own conclusions about who is a monster and who isn't, and whether or not the puppies are better off when you see how things end up going for them...)
> 
> /end PSA.


	13. Chapter 13

The sweet tang of barbecue sauce complimented the powdery scent of the softener Cas favored for his blankets. Dean blinked gunk from his eyes and tried to shift his balance, but Cas mumbled incoherently and snuggled closer to Dean’s back, easily pinning him in place.

He was awake.

The stitches binding the wound on his back strained with every breath. One back leg was limp and unresponsive. His chest ached at the light pressure of Cas’ arm on his bruised insides and broken ribs.

Being awake  _ sucked _ .

But...he was alive.

_ Hell...why’d they bother? _

...he didn’t really meant that...

For years, Dean had flirted with death, courted it, even, tackling Hunts beyond his ability, hoping he’d not come through them, going to sleep hurt but more-or-less hale and disappointed afterwards.

Today...habit said “damn, I’m still alive,” but when Dean actually let himself  _ feel _ ...he was glad.

How bizarre.

Maybe this was a djinn dream. Maybe his so-called happiness was fake. Better living through chemicals. He thought, in his feverish stupor, he’d heard something about Cas using magic on him.

But it seemed so real. Why would a dream hurt? Why would a dream be dark? Why would a dream smell like fabric softener?

As if Dean knew fuck-all about what a djinn was really capable of. Everything that seemed off could be part of the fantasy. Every suspicion could be external.

Or everything could be precisely as it ought to be, with Dean recovering from his injuries.

He’d likely never know.

And he didn’t fucking  _ care. _ Everything that had happened his whole Goddamn  _ life  _ might be a dream, or the Matrix, or Alice in Fucking Wonderland, and it didn’t matter worth a bag of beans.

Dream or not...Dean was exactly where he wanted to be.

“Dog?”

Limned in blue that wisped ghostly around his neck and bared arms, Cas lifted himself up on an elbow and met Dean’s gaze.

“You’re awake!”

Experimentally, Dean tried to twitch his tail. It thumped against the bed. Awesome. At least one part of him was pain free and functional.

“How do you feel?”

Dean shrugged and whimpered.

“Yeah...maybe...don’t do that.”

Panting, tongue out, Dean attempted the dog equivalent of a chuckle. Cas joined in his laughter, so either Dean had succeeded, or Cas had used his empathy shit to read his mind.

Which was fucked up.

Maybe Dean  _ did  _ give a damn if this was a dream.

“We still need to talk.”

Dean felt a chill of alarm, and then intense relief.

Dad had told Dean about djinn dreams, about how they featured all the victims’ wishes come true, how they weren’t real, how djinns slowly killed their victims and kept them docile with perfect hallucinations.

In no idyl would Dean  _ ever  _ have to return to his human form and share his fuckin’  _ feelings  _ with Cas. 

This was real.

Cas was real.

And Cas  _ had  _ told the truth. Everything really  _ would  _ be okay...

“I’m serious, Dog. As soon as you’re feeling better.”

...eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I actually finished two scenes yesterday. Which means I have all of today and tomorrow to work on the next scene, which might end up long. (A lot of the remaining scenes are longer, cause smut, though I also tend to write smut scenes faster. Not that the *next* scene is smut, but...we're getting there.)


	14. Chapter 14

“Alright, Dog...I hate to do this, but I  _ have  _ to go to work.”

It blew Dean’s mind that Cas hadn’t been bullshitting him about his job. He actually  _ was  _ an EMT.  _ And  _ a Hunter. Add both of those to this list of shit Cas had told the truth about.

Dad always said the only way to be a Hunter was to be rootless, to follow the case wherever it led. Dad always said that nothing was important than what he did, and that justified the theft and the lies. Dad had always been a hero, and Dean had always believed that, even when he was taught to break every rule of his childhood, even when dad left him and Sam alone for days and weeks at a time. Hunters didn’t have time to hunt and raise a family.

Cas was an EMT. Sam was a vet tech. Jo owned a bar. Their friend Meg, another Goddamn demon, was a doctor. All four had visited in the week since Dean had gotten his wits back, monitoring Dean’s condition, checking his wounds, helping Cas around the house, making sure Cas took care of himself while the idiot took care of Dean. Meg and Sam had been around so fricken much that Dean had even gotten used to the reek of  _ wrong  _ that had soaked into the carpets and sofa.

All of them had jobs.

All of them were Hunters.

Three of them were monsters.

None of them had families, but if dad had been wrong about the rest...well...

Dean didn’t know which was worse - that Dad had been so fucking clueless about so much important shit, or that Dean had always fuckin’ believed him.

_ Wonder what Sam would say about that? _

_ If that creature even  _ is  _ Sam… _

_...he looks like Sam...he sounds like Sam...he smells like Sam...sort of… _

_ Ain’t no way in fuck all I’m gonna find out. _

Dean wrinkled his nose and flattened himself against the bed. He didn’t want to think about his dad. He didn’t want to think about Sam. He didn’t want Cas to go. He didn’t want to  _ talk _ . 

He wanted to lie there warm and safe, with Cas close by, and never face down his literal and figurative demons.

Cas’ eyes never left Dean as he shrugged into his jacket. 

“I’ll...um…” Cas grimaced, looked away, looked back. His scent was sour, troubled, sad. Blue curled about his neck and fingers.

_ Aw, hell...what’d I do wrong now? After all the trouble I’ve caused him, I should go. _

“I’ll leave the door open for you.”

_ I should shut the fuck up and stop thinking I have any fricken idea what this lunatic is thinking. He’s so...so… _

“If you want to go.”

_...he’s so  _ honest _ … _

“I won’t make you stay, Dog.”

_ What the fuck am I supposed to do with that? _

“I’ll never make you stay.”

_ But I would stay, if you asked... _

“Um...bye.”

... _ aw, hell. _

Cas turned on a heel and strode down the hall. Dean lay alone on the bed, surrounded in the comfort of Cas’ scent. He’d hardly left that spot since he’d regained consciousness, but…

Cas looked so sad.

Forcing himself to stand, Dean grudgingly used the ramp that Cas had put up to facilitate Dean’s mounting and dismounting from the bed. The strain of the leap was too much for him. Cas had diligently read Dean an entire WebMD article about the long-term impacts of ACL damage and it was likely that, long term, Dean would be fine. Never 100%, but fine. He wouldn’t be joining Cas on any more long jogs, but, well...as long as the skinwalkers were out there, neither of them would be running except on a treadmill.

Taking the stairs tentatively, Dean tried to keep up with Cas. The gust of fresh outdoor air that swept away the stink of demon and skinwalker blood urged Dean to greater haste. He leapt down the last few steps, barely avoided faceplanting, and skittered forward. At the sound of the  _ thump _ of Dean’s landing and Dean’s nails on wood, Cas paused and turned.

Dean wagged his tail.

“You idiot,” Cas said affectionately, dropping to a squat and holding his arms out. Dean was embarrassed by how much he wanted the offered embrace, but not so mortified that he held himself back. Cas’ arms enfolded him; Dean crowded him, licked his face, trying to communicate that he’d miss Cas, that he wanted to stay, that he’d be in the house when Cas returned from work.

Cas’ eyes glowed blue and he grinned, the worry dissipating from his scent.

Even without words, they’d never had much difficulty communicating.

So why did Cas have to ruin it by insisting they have a damn  _ chat _ ?

“Good Dog,” Cas murmured. Rising, he gave Dean one last pat on the head, turned, and headed out. The door clicked shut behind him, the lock  _ clack, clacking  _ into place.

_ The backdoor is wide open so I can run if I want. Only Cas would make sure to lock the front door. _

The house was so quiet with him gone.

_ I mustn’t forget - no matter how friendly he behaves towards me, he still gave me an ultimatum: talk with him or get out. _

Water whispered through the pipes.

_ Which is total bullshit. He can obviously understand me, and I’ve made it damn fucking clear I’m following every word out of his mouth. What the hell do we have to talk about? _

Heat wafted from the vents.

_ I’ve always been pretty fucking clear about what I am: a dog. That’s it. I’m a fricken dog. _

A mouse skittered somewhere in the walls, or maybe the attic.

_ Meanwhile, Cas  _ has _ lied to me. He’s a djinn. He can read my thoughts. He fricken glows. Whatever he did with his hand  _ killed  _ a fucking  _ skinwalker _. And he told me  _ nothing _. It’s a lie of omission, but that’s still a lie. _

A branch somewhere outside, somewhere close, went  _ crack, splinter, snap _ and crashed to the ground.

_...yeah, and everything he’s said to me, everything he’s done, suggests that he thought I knew he was a djinn from the word go. _

An owl  _ hoo, hoo,  _ hooted.

_ Or rather the words “hello, dog.” _

The backdoor tapped softly against the doorjamb as the wind caused it to rattle.

_ Whatever. I knew what I meant. And if he lied by omission, and that’s oh-so-terrible and wrong, what about me? I let him think I was an ordinary dog. I had no idea he knew I was a skinwalker and I’d have  _ never  _ told him. _

A soft  _ drip, drip, drip _ drove Dean batshit until he finally found the leak, slow and steady from the bathtub faucet.

He couldn’t fix the leak without hands.

_ It’s always so nice when he gives me a bath...maybe when my back is healed, he’ll… _

_...only if I stay… _

_...only if he let’s me stay… _

_...only if I talk to him. _

Fuck, it was going to be a  _ long  _ night.

Moving around was painful, his limp frustrating, but sitting still was maddening. Sleep eluded him; for the first time in days he wasn’t exhausted. The house was full of activities that Dean could do staying still - he could read; he could watch TV; he could play solitaire; he could pop in a movie;he could tangle the shit out of the yarn Cas was crocheting with - but all those things required opposable thumbs.

_...what if I did as he asked? What if I became human again? Would it be so bad? _

_ No! _

_ I could stop the bathtub leak… _

_ No, no, no! _

Growling annoyance at himself, Dean paced the hallway that stretched from the front door to the back of the house. It was a good activity for him. Worked out the aches and kinks that had set in during his convalescence. Helped him get used to the awkwardness of walking with one back leg stiff and unresponsive. Helped him pass the time.

Back and forth, he walked. Back and forth.

Didn’t do a damn thing to stop his spiraling thoughts.

_...why not? _

_ Because I’m a dog! Because I’m a monster! Because if anyone finds out I’m a  _ person _ , I’m fucked! _

_ But Cas already knows I’m a person. _

Back and forth, he walked, Back and forth.

_ Okay, sure, I’ll give...me...that one. Cas knows I’m a skinwalker and knows I can turn into a person. _

_ But he doesn’t know what person. _

_ Cas doesn’t know I’m fricken Dean Winchester. _

_ Cas doesn’t know he’s all palsy with my fucking brother. _

_ Sam can’t find out I’m a monster. He’ll hunt me. He’ll tell dad, and dad will hunt me. Sam’s a little bitch - I’m not worried about him - but dad’s the best there is. _

_ A hero. _

_ If he comes for me… _

Back and forth, he walked. Back and forth.

_ What about the demons? _

_ If dad’s the best, how could he let a demon possess Sam? If dad’s the best, how could he let Pontiac, fricken Buffy Hellmouth weirdshit magnet, even fricken exist? If dad’s the best… _

Back and forth, he walked. Back and forth.

_ Dad told me everything that wasn’t human had to die. _

_ Dad called me a monster.  _

_ Dad told me he’d kill me. _

_ Dad never, in 16 fucking years, told me he loved me. _

_ Why the fuck do I care how that asshole defined  _ human  _ versus  _ monster _? _

_ What if dad...what if  _ I _...was wrong about everything? _

Back and forth, he walked. Back and forth.

_ Cas, and Sam, and Meg...they’re monsters. _

_ Me...I’m a monster. _

_ Jo...the fuck I know, she smells human, but maybe she’s a monster too… _

_ Regardless...we’re  _ also  _ all Hunters. _

Back and forth, he walked. Back and forth.

_ Dad wanted to kill me just ‘cause I got turned into a skinwalker. If he knew Sam was possessed, if he and Sam were still all buddy-buddy, dad would fricken  _ annihilate _ Sam. _

_ Sam won’t tell dad where I am. Who knows what the fuck their relationship even is now? But...it’s probably bad. _

_ The only way to find out would be to talk to my brother. _

_ And Sam already knows that I’m a skinwalker. _

_ Though he doesn’t know I’m...me. _

Back and forth, he walked. Back and forth.

_ So, again - what’s to stop me from changing, talking to Cas, figuring shit out? _

_ What do I look like now? _

_ How old am I now? _

_ How does my voice sound? _

_ What will I wear? _

_ How will I act? _

_ What if my wounds translate when I change? What if they’re  _ worse  _ when I’m human? _

Back and forth, he walked. Back and forth.

_ Fuck it. There are so many reasons I shouldn’t take the chance of changing. What about Cas’ reaction? What about Sam’s? What if when they know I’m Dean Winchester, they decide I’m worth hunting after all? Who knows what dad told Sam about me? _

_ Changing into a human is a shit idea. _

Dean swiveled and loped to the back door.

_ I should leave. _

Cold air seeped through the gap between the door and the floor. Spending the winter out would fucking suck, but what choice did Dean have?

_ The risks of staying are too great. _

_...what risks? _

_ I just listed them! The fuck?! _

_ No. I listed a bunch of bullshit excuses. _

_ There isn’t a single actual fucking risk involved in staying. _

_ This isn’t about Meg or Jo or Sam or Cas or even dad. _

_ This is about  _ me _ , and my fricken middle school insecurities, and my chick-flick self-doubt. _

_ I’m  _ scared _ to become human. _

_ I’m so afraid I’d rather face the dangers of living solo in the Illinois winter, where I’ll starve to death if the cold doesn’t kill me first, than look in a goddamn  _ mirror _ and see that I’ve gotten old and that I’m even more fugly as a dude than I am as a mutt. _

_ I’m a fucking  _ pussy _. _

_ Enough already. _

_ No more excuses. _

Striding back to the hall, Dean made his laborious way to the second floor. Upstairs was warm. Upstairs was private. Upstairs, there was clothing, and beds, and a shower.

_ What if I smell? _

_ What if my nails are gross? _

_ What if I have to fricken shave? _

_ Well...there’s only one way to find out. _

_ And hey, maybe I’m only injured as a dog! That’d be pretty sweet... _

His first instinct was to go to the guest room, but one step inside gave him pause. Noxious demon scent permeated the air - Sam and Jo had spent at least a few nights over while Dean was hurt, and Cas hadn’t had a chance to change the bedding - and even if it had been clean, it was...it was  _ wrong. _

It didn’t smell like Cas.

_ This is a shit idea. Everything about this is fucking stupid. I should just leave. If Cas really wanted me to stay, he’d not have left the fucking door open. _

With a slow exhale, Dean ignored his ranting, irrational, cowardly thoughts. He was freaked, but he wasn’t stupid. For some ridiculous reason, Cas wanted him to stay. Leaving now, leaving  _ again _ , would be the stupidest damn thing Dean had ever done in a storied life of garbage decisions.

Dean crossed the hall to Cas’ room.

Dean took a deep breath. Tension ebbed from his shoulders and chest. His pain lessened. His fears spiked -  _ but what if - what if - what if  _ \- and then dissipated.

Sam wouldn’t be pissed at him.

Cas didn’t want him to leave.

Most importantly... _ Dean _ didn’t want to leave.

_ Cas said everything would be alright. And maybe I’m a fucking moron for believing him...but I believe him. _

_ So I’m a moron. _

_ So be it. _

Climbing onto the bed, Dean snuggled down in the comforter, burrowed his nose into Cas’ pillow, suffused his senses with the smell of barbecue...the smell of djinn...the smell of  _ Cas _ …

...closed his eyes…

...and  _ changed _ .

Since Dean had been bitten, he’d only made the transition to human once, and the transition to dog twice. He remembered it hurting a shitton, amplified by the agony of the bite. In comparison to the pain of the wounds he’d taken over his years of hunting - in comparison to the wounds he’d taken while defending Cas - transitioning from dog to human hardly twinged. He didn’t remember how he’d done it before, didn’t know  _ how  _ to do it...but he thought about it and...it simply... _ happened _ . 

His arms and legs stretched and twisted. 

His chest grew and flattened. 

His fur receded. 

His nails withdrew. 

His snout retreated into his face. 

His bones crunched. 

His joints popped. 

His strained whimpers deepened to panting moans.

The blankets bunched between his fingers.

_ Well, I did it. _

Moving felt fucking  _ bizarre _ .

_ Now the shit’s in the frying pan. _

He wasn’t only injured as a dog. Existing as a human ached. His back hurt less, but his chest hurt more, and fuck, he hadn’t even considered that now there’d be no way for him to walk without putting weight on his injured leg.

_ I could always crawl over the floor on all fours. _

_ Like a dog. _

Without fur to protect him, the house was chilly. The clothes question had been answered, too; Dean didn’t remember much about his last change but he’d wager he hadn’t been buck-ass naked before he became a dog. Flexing his hand, he tentatively felt over the blankets. Having bendable digits again was weird. Having a sensitive sense of touch was  _ intense _ . There was still a hint of barbecue sauce in the air, but otherwise the room smelled flat, uninformative, strangely two dimensional. The complex layers of scent that he’d grown accustomed to were gone. Navigating without them felt like going blind.

_...it feels like when I first became a dog, and I could hardly see or feel, but I could hear and taste and smell like whoa, and I had to learn to use my senses again.  Iwas helpless as a fuckin’ baby ‘til I figured it out. _

_ ‘Bout how I feel now. _

_ This time will be different. I’ve been a human before. This isn’t new. I’m prepared. _

Dean grasped the edge of the blanket and tugged it over himself. Every brush of fabric on his bared skin abraded. The comforter was a heavy weight compressing him, trapping him. Shaking, shivering, Dean tried to keep his breathing even as pain and sensation wracked him.

_ Oh yeah. I’m so fucking prepared. Brilliant fucking job, me. _

With a slow inhale and a slower exhale, Dean calmed himself.

It was just a blanket for fuck’s sake. If he couldn’t even handle that, how the fuck was he supposed to cope with clothes, or going outside, or talking with Cas?

Dean snuggled into the growing warmth. Light painted his eyelids pink.

...how the  _ fuck  _ was he supposed to cope with opening his eyes?

_ Just...take it slow...it will be okay… _

_ Perfect. Fantastic. As soon as you figure out how to  _ open my eyes _ fricken  _ slowly _ , you let me know, hotshot. Until then… _

Dean blinked.

Intellectually, he knew it must be early morning, that the sky was but faintly aglow with sunrise, that the colors were muted by shadows. Intellectually, he knew nothing he saw was remarkable. Everything in the bedroom was utterly fricken ordinary.

Fuck intellectuality.

Seeing was  _ awful _ .

The room was too bright. The edges of objects were too crisp. The details were too... _ detailed _ . The colors were too vibrant, and there were  _ way  _ too fucking many of them. It had been a damn  _ lifetime  _ since he’d seen red and green and orange outside of his dreams. They were exactly as he remembered them, yet completely alien. He’d missed ROYGBIV for so long, for  _ years _ , he’d even remembered the fucking mnemonic, but now...the nostalgia to see like a dog again was surreal.

_...or...maybe it’s not that fucked up. I was 16 years old when I was bitten. I’ve probably spent almost as long as a dog as I ever spent as a person. _

_ Heck, it’s winter...didn’t Cas say before I left that it was January 12th? _

_ I probably just passed my umpteenth birthday...unconscious, on Cas’ bed. _

_ Fucking awesome. _

_ So...how old  _ am  _ I? _

_ Add that to the list of questions. _

_ Time to get some answers. _

Carefully, Dean opened his eye again. Squinting into the light, he waited until his sight normalized, focusing on the pale brown of Cas’ floor and the muted gray of the blanket. The room was still and quiet, and Dean concentrated until he could scan the objects in the room without his stomach twisting, concentrated until he grew accustomed to the feel of cloth on his skin and the glare of light upon his retinas and the panoply of colors dazzling him.

Dean bunched his arms beneath him and pushed up, twisted to his back, and  _ sat _ . 

He had no haunches. He had no need to balance himself on his arms. He had no  _ tail _ .

This wasn’t his body.

This wasn’t how his limbs worked.

This wasn’t  _ him _ .

_ I could change back. _

_ But if I do that I can’t talk to Cas. _

_ And if I don’t talk to Cas, I can’t stay. _

_ I don’t want to leave. _

One movement at a time, one step at a time, Dean rose, using the bed and the furniture and the walls for balance. Everything looked different; he was no longer a mere three feet off the ground. He was a big dog, but not  _ this  _ big. Fuck, he didn’t think he’d been this tall as a teenager. Walking hurt, and he heavily favored his right leg; his left wouldn’t support his weight. Being bipedal would have been weird even he wasn’t staggering along on an injured leg, but with only two feet to support him, he was continually on the verge of falling on his face. He’d have felt pathetic, save that for the last however-the-fuck-long he’d been unconscious, he’d been even  _ more  _ pathetic. At least he was moving under his own power. Which was awesome, ‘cause he had to take a leak, and getting to the bathroom was achievable.

Something something small victories.

Bonus, pissing wasn’t that different. He didn’t have to lift a leg, but he still peed standing up. The bathroom was dim and the colors muted, making it peaceful to stand in. He even leaned down and stopped that infernal dripping sound.  _ Without _ pitching chin first into the side of the bathtub.

The bathroom was nice.

Except for the fucking medicine cabinet mirror.

Because seriously - who the  _ fuck _ was that douche bag?

His fucking intellectuality piped up again,  _ that’s you, jackass _ , but he couldn’t believe it. He was 16. He was in high school. He was the bad boy, the curious temptation, the dangerous fling. He was the tall, dark and lean stranger leaning seductively in the shadows. He was the casual fuck, happy to tease a few orgasms from his partner and tell enticing lies about how he’d gotten his scars.

He was  _ not  _ this fucking Castaway Tom Hanks wannabe. 

His hair was greasy and overgrown, loose curls brushing his shoulders and tangling in his scraggly beard. The blankets gathered over his shoulders revealed pale, sallow skin, and he was well south of “lean” and firmly in “emaciated” territory. His scars had multiplied over the years, puckered and even more pale than the surrounding skin. His stitched-up slices and burn marks had been mysterious and suave back in the day, but his wounds  _ did  _ transfer, and so did his poorly healed scar tissue. Even more hideous, he had sparse chest hair  _ except  _ where the scars were. He looked like he had fucking mange. And he should know, he’d gotten mange fricken  _ three times  _ over the tears.

At least Tom Hanks had that “ruggedly disheveled” thing going on when he was marooned on a deserted island. Dean had hardly left civilization and he looked like some dumbass dying of an unknown degenerative disease on an episode of Dr. Sexy.

_ Well, I know it’s not Lupus. Wolves ain’t got fuck-all to do with my ‘condition.’ _

_ It’s true. It could be worse. I could be a werewolf. At least as a skinwalker I have some control of what happens to me. _

His stomach rumbled.

_ Speaking of, I can also control dragging my ass downstairs and scrounging some grub from the fridge. _

By the time he made his way along the hall, down the stairs, and to the kitchen, the sun had risen. Yellow flared bright off the white walls where the east-facing windows greeted the morning. He made a bee-line to the fridge, pulled the door open, and was shocked by how  _ little  _ he smelled. How the fuck was he supposed to know what was good to eat, what was  _ safe  _ to eat, if he couldn’t smell it? Sure, he’d eaten loads of gross stuff as a dog, but compared to some of the things he’d eaten as a kid, when dad was two weeks gone and Dean and Sam had to make due with whatever Dean could salvage from the nearest dumpster...at no time as a pup had things gotten  _ that  _ bad. Thanks to his sense of smell, he always knew when there was a better meal around the corner or down the next street or in the garbage down the way.

Not that anything in Cas’ fridge was rotten. But...he worried. 

About everything, apparently.

_ No, I’m only  _ actually  _ worried about, oh, maybe two or three things. Talking to Cas. Meeting up with Sammy. Dad finding out about me. All the rest of this bullshit I’m coming up with is leakage. _

Grabbing the first container that caught his eye - leftover chicken casserole - Dean popped the lid off and ate it cold with his fingers as he pondered what to do next.

_ Shower. Shave. Clothes? No, wearing Cas’ clothes would be fucking weird.  _

_ More weird than wearing this blanket like a Hugh Hefner robe?  _

_ More weird than eating this mess with my fingers like a damn animal? _

_ At least food still taste good. But not the same. Wasn’t this way more flavorful yesterday?  _

_ Of course it was. Yesterday I was a dog, and could smell  _ everything _ , and smell and taste are linked, and Cas is a damn fine cook.  _

_ And who am I now? Why the fuck am  pretending that this person, this pathetic-looking  _ human _ , is who I am? _

_ I haven’t got a fucking  _ clue  _ who I am. _

_ Hell, I haven’t got a fucking clue who I was  _ before _. _

_ Which before? Before I got bit? Before, when I was just some dog? Before I met Cas? _

_ All of the above. _

Cold air blew over Dean’s feet. Shivering, Dean tugged the blanket up and went and closed the back door. He could do that now. He had hands. Shit wasn’t all bad. Hands were awesome.

_ Gotta focus on one thing at a time. _

_ How old am I? What year is it? _

The artwork on the walls had always been indistinguishable blobs, but now the images resolved into nature photographs, simple sketches, and, above the light switch in the kitchen, a calendar. 

Good eyesight. Also awesome.

And apparently, it was fricken 2019.

_ Wasn’t it 2015, like, yesterday? _

He’d been bitten in 2007.

_ No wonder I look like shit. I’m fricken 28. _

_ That’s...almost 30. _

_ I got  _ old _. _

Dean’s nails - shit, he needed to cut those - scraped the bottom of the greasy, empty plastic container. Heaving a sigh, he went to the sink and washed his hands and the dishes. Simple, discrete tasks were doable. He could do this. One task at a time. The blanket slipped down his shoulders; he bunched it awkwardly beneath his armpits. Coordinating his human limbs was fucking  _ annoying _ .

_ Okay, next is shower - I’ll yoink some shampoo, it’ll be fine...right?...yeah it’ll be fine - and maybe I can scrounge up a disposable razor and figure out how to fucking shave this jungle off my chin… _

Dean turned to head up stairs.

_...and then-- _

Cas stood in the doorway, staring at him wide-eyed.

Dean froze like a fricken deer in headlights.

_ It’s Cas and I didn’t smell him coming and how the fuck long has he been standing there and hell I can actually see him now. Shit. Shit. Shiiiiiiiiit. Have his eyes always been blue? Has his hair always been brown? Has his skin always been tanned? Have his arms always been muscled? Have his tattoos always been intricate? _

_ Has he always been absolutely  _ gorgeous _? _

“Uh.” He broke when into a hacking cough. When Dean did his bodily inventory, he completely fucking forgot to try to  _ talk _ . Brilliant. His voice cracked, dry and gruff and fuck-tons deeper than he remembered it being. Swallowing away the lingering taste of mushroom soup and pepper, he closed his eyes.

Not seeing was awesome. The room, the light...oh, who the fuck was he kidding?... _ Cas  _ was too fricken distracting. And Dean couldn’t imagine looking anywhere  _ other  _ than at Cas, now that Cas was in the room.

“Heya, Cas.” 

There. Better.

“Hello...Dog?” Cas sounded different, too. Dean’s hearing was worse as a human, yet Cas sounded...better. His voice was richer. More vibrant. More...appealing.

_ I am so screwed _ .

“It’s...um...it’s Dean, actually.” 

Silence.

Reluctantly, Dean opened his eyes.

Cas stared at him, Stared at his face. Stared at his shoulders. Stared and judged, his expression neutral, distant, unreadable. Dean felt exposed.  _ I am exposed. All I’m wearing is a fucking blanket _ . Dean gathered the comforter more snugly about him, hunched his shoulders, and wished he could fricken disappear.

“My name, he mumbled. “That’s my name. Dean.”

“Hello,  _ Dean _ ,” Cas said warmly, breaking into a broad smile.

Dean blinked.

Concentrating on each individual muscle in his cheeks, Dean managed to twist his expression into what he  _ hoped  _ was a similar smile.

“You...you wanted to talk?” Dean asked.

“Yes. Talk.” Cas...shook his head? The fuck? “Let’s talk. And...Dean?”

Cas went silent again. Waiting for Dean to talk. There really was no getting out of this fricken conversation.

“Uh...yeah?”

“Thank you.”

_ He’s thanking me.  _ He’s  _ thanking  _ me _. _

“Right. Whatever, Cas,” grumbled Dean. “Let’s just get this over with.”

_ Thank you for everything, Cas. _

Cas grinned at him.

_ Right, he can read my mind. _

_ You asshole. Or something. You hear that Cas? You’re a fucking asshole. _

Cas’ grin widened.

Dean glowered.

Why had Dean  _ ever  _ thought this was a good idea?


	15. Chapter 15

“So.”

Dean was ensconced on the couch, struggling to find a comfortable sitting position. A steaming cup of sweet-smelling hot cocoa warmed his hands. 

“So…?”

Cas sat opposite him, inaccessible, distant and solitary in the arm chair. He wasn’t smiling any longer.

Dean’s beard itched. He resisted the instincts to lift one of his legs to scratch it.

His brain was thoroughly fucked up.

The anticipation twisting through his stomach was almost as bad as the ache of leaning against his injured back and the struggle to figure out where the fuck three feet of leg was supposed to go when he sat down.

“That last episode of Dr. Sexy was pretty sweet!” Dean said, plastering a grin over his discomfort. “Dr. Piccolo is  _ really  _ going to accept the job in Detroit...do you think she will? Like...Detroit? Seriously?”

Cas heaved a sigh, gaze pinned at the wall behind Dean, and said, “What happened the day you met Sam?”

Oh. Well. Right into it, then.

What the  _ fuck  _ was Dean supposed to say? A multitude of tall tails...tales...and half-truths ran through his mind.

“I bet they fake her leaving. She misses an episode or two - I heard that behind the scenes she’s accepted a bit role in some Hallmark Christmas-a-thon thing - and when she comes back…”

Cas’ gaze shifted and their eyes met.

Fuck, Cas had nice eyes, even when they were flat with disappointment. 

_ What. Do. I. Say? _

_ Why the hell didn’t I spend umpteen hours thinking about  _ this  _ instead of obsessing about who is and who isn’t a monster? _

_ Well, Cas, Sam reeked like literal Hell. _

_ Well, Cas, I bit you cause you startled me.  _

_ Well, Cas, I’ll say anything you want to hear, just...please don’t make me leave. _

Cas’ expression grew troubled.

“Dean…”

_ Well, Cas, I’m just a useless jackass. I bit you and Sammy cause I’m a monster, and I’ve always been a monster, and I’ll always be a monster. _

If Dean lied…then why did he bother pretending to be human? If Dean wasn’t willing to talk - if Dean didn’t think staying at the house was worth the truth, didn’t think  _ Cas  _ was worth the truth - then why hadn’t he left?

“So. About that.”

Last chance to back out.

“I fucked up real bad.”

Last chance to bullshit his way out of this mess.

“And. Um. Sorry I bit you.”

Last chance to leave.

“And Sam...he’s my brother.”

Cas’ jaw dropped.

“But that’s not why I bit him! I mean, it kind of is, but also, he’s a fucking demon. So he’s not my brother. I don’t know what the fuck happened to him in the last ten years but whoever that was in Sam’s meatsuit, that wasn’t my brother. So it’s all a fucking mess, and yeah, I kinda freaked.”

“You’re--”

“And, yeah, I really  _ am  _ sorry that I bit you, cause you didn’t do anything wrong, but I won’t apologize for biting that monster. You’re the dipshit that  _ knew  _ I was a skinwalker and you didn’t think to fricken  _ warn me  _ that the buddy you’d called over for shits and giggles and ghost hunting was a demon? A+ thinking on  _ that  _ one, Cas. And another thing, you--”

“You’re Dean  _ Winchester _ ?” Cas interrupted.

“Uh...yeah? What, heard of me?” It was easier to preen and pretend than show how genuinely surprised he was. It was easier to talk about himself then to keep babbling like an idiot. 

_ It was fucktons easier to just  _ stay a fricken dog _. _

“You’ve got to talk to Sam.” Cas was already reaching toward the pocket where he kept his cell phone.

“I ain’t gotta do jack-shit,” snapped Dean. “Don’t you fricken  _ dare _ tell him.”

“He spent three  _ years  _ looking for you! You’re the reason he and I met! He thinks you’re dead!”

_ They met because of  _ me _? The fuck? _

“Good. He should think that. He’s right. I’m dead. There ain’t nothing left of the the Dean he knew. And from what I’ve smelled, there ain’t nothing left of my kid brother, either. Still trying to figure out what it says about you, too, that you’re all buddy-buddy with him.”

_ They’re all monsters. _

_ Now that I’m a human, I should hunt them. _

“He’s not a demon, Dean.” Cas rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t be friends with a...okay, I’m friends with Meg, and she’s a demon, so I shouldn’t say...that’s not…” Dean scowled and Cas grimaced. “Dean, I can tell you’ve been through a lot. Sam has been through a lot, too. It’s complicated. It’s true that he’s not entirely human, but he’s not a demon. You should talk to him, and let him explain for himself. And you can explain for  _ yourself  _ what happened to you, and why you’ve let him think you’re dead for so long”

“Like I give a shit what you think I should do,” Dean scoffed. 

Cas quirked an eyebrow at him and said nothing. Cas’ frustration and disappointment in Dean was fricken  _ palpable _ . 

_ Come on, barbecue sauce, why you gotta be like that? What part of my spending all my time as a dog made you think I’d be up for sharing and caring? You demanded I talk, and I talked. With  _ you _. Didn’t promise to have a chit chat with anybody else as part of this luau. Quit acting like you know jackshit about my life and what I’ve been through. _

Dean hunched over his mug of hot cocoa, missing how intense chocolate smelled when he was a dog, and stared at the coffee table. It was stained with Dean’s blood. Cas had moved heaven and hell and earth to save Dean’s life, and all Dean could do was rant in his head about Cas being an asshole.

_ Yeah. Right.  _ Cas  _ is the asshole in this scenario. _

Fucking fantastic. 

_ And why doesn’t Cas know jackshit about me? Because I’ve lived with him for months and this is the first time we’ve had a conversation. He doesn’t know what I’ve been through because I haven’t  _ told  _ him. _

_ And I kinda want to. _

_ And that’s fucked. _

“Can we just...one thing at a time, Cas? Let’s work out you and me. My brother came inout of the blue, storming into the house. You greet him like a buddy.He stinks like the pits, and you glow blue and I just...what would you have done?”

“...if my brother stormed in unexpectedly? Probably poison him,” Cas muttered, flexing his fingers.

Right.

Cause Cas could poison shit. With his hand.

“And then there’s you!”

“Me?” Cas had the fricken audacity to sound puzzled.

“You and your fuckin’ tattoos and your marathon runs and those Goddamn toxic hands and your mind-reading and your sitting on the fricken floor to share dinner and your…” Dean took a hand from the mug and gestured emphatically in Cas’ direction.

“You just pointed to all of me.” 

“Don’t you go quoting  _ How to Train Your Dragon _ to me, asshole!”

“Quoting--?”

“Zip it! You’ve told me jack shit and  _ I’m  _ the one who has to communicate?”

“I wasn’t quoting anything,” Cas protested.

“Don’t change the topic!”

“Of course - my mistake - changing the topic is  _ your _ prerogative.”

“The other topic is done. Finito. There ain’t nothin’ more for me to say! Sam is my brother. I bit him cause here I was, minding my own fuckin’ business, living my best life--”

“ _ This  _ was your best life?”

“Yeah, it fuckin’  _ was _ , until Sammy’s possessed ass came strolling in and fucked everything up.

“He’s not pos--”

“I heard ya. And you say he’s not a demon. You say I gotta talk to him. You say it’s complicated. Whoop-de-fucking-doo. Gold star, you’re a good friend, and a fricken pain in my ass. I’m just supposed to believe you and let it go? Well get this,  _ I’m willing to do that _ , so why the fuck are you still giving me a hard time? Might as well open the door and lemme out now, cause if passing your bullshit test to be  _ allowed  _ to stay here involves spilling my life story,  _ requires  _ that I talk to my brother, then I  _ fail _ and I’m gone.” 

Dean slammed his mug to the table and surged to his paws... _ tried _ to surge to his  _ feet _ ...but the blanket tangled in his ankles and his legs were too fricken long and his injured knee went out and his back screamed protest and  _ fuck his damn life _ . His fall proceeded in slow motion. Dean couldn’t react, his face on track for an  _ awesome  _ collision with the corner of the coffee table, and there wasn’t shit he could do to stop it cause this fucking body wouldn’t do a damn thing he wanted it to, and--

\--and Cas caught him.

Strong hands closed around Dean’s elbows. A broad shoulder supported his face. A firm chest met Dean’s. Dean’s knees hit the table, knocking the cocoa over. Hot chocolate dripped from the table and onto the length of comforter that had caught between Dean’s legs, soaking the fabric. Cas lifted Dean with each inhale, settled their bodies more closely together with every exhale.

He smelled like barbecue sauce.

Of fucking course he did.

_ Why’s he gotta be so...so… _

_ Awesome? _

_ Secretive? _

_ Monstrous? _

_ Gorgeous? _

_ Insistent? _

_ Perfect? _

“I’d never make you leave,” Cas murmured. His breath was a wind gale over Dean’s exposed ear, scouring and loud; Dean jerked away from Cas’ embrace and tumbled back. The couch creaked as Dean’s weight landed on it and he sprawled out. 

_ I gotta get out of here. _

“And I’d never make you stay.”

“Get outta my head, Cas!” Dean’s snarl would have been more effective if he was still a damn dog, more effective if he’d been capable of standing and storming out of the room.

“I’m not  _ in  _ your head, Dean.”

“Bullshit! You’ve always responded to what I was thinking. It was weird as shit when I thought you were just some dude but now that I know you’re a monster it’s fucking  _ creepy _ .” Dean’s words hung heavy in a sudden silence as Cas stared at him, stunned. “What? Is there something stuck in my teeth? Did I stutter? The fuck, Cas?”

“There’s…” Cas sank back into the armchair. “There’s a lot to unpack there.”

“Cas--”

Cas held up a hand and Dean bit off what he’d been about to say. 

“I can’t read your mind,” said Cas slowly. “I’m empathic, Dean, not telepathic. When you’re near me, I can sense how you’re feeling. Based on contextual cues, I can then often make logical inferences about what your thoughts are. I’m wrong almost as often as I’m correct. If it seems like I am consistently able to respond to your thoughts, well, behold the power of confirmation bias. And for the rest of what you said...you truly think I’m a monster?”

“You’re a fricken djinn, Cas. Not a human. A monster. Duh.” Dean rolled his eyes.

_ That’s...that’s not really what I think. _

_ And if he could  _ actually  _ read my mind, he’d  _ know  _ that’s not what I think. _

_ Just goes to show yet again that he’s on the up-and-up. _

_ Just goes to show yet again the only monster around is me. _

_ Why am I being such an asshole? _

_ Why can’t I seem to  _ stop  _ being such an asshole? _

“But you didn’t always know I was a djinn. You thought I was an ordinary man.”

“Have you looked at...you?” Dean gestured at Cas again. The cocoa-soaked blanket was getting cold. Ugh. 

“Yes...I’ve seen my reflection many times…do you mean to imply that I look human so you simply assumed…” Cas didn’t continue until Dean nodded. “Sight wouldn’t have been your strongest sense when we met. I assumed that, based on my scent…?”

“Barbecue sauce.”

“Barbecue sauce?”

“You smell like barbecue sauce, Cas. Least-ways, that’s how you smell to me. Totally human. Just. I dunno. Tangier.”

“Barbecue. Sauce.”

“Some echo we’ve got in here,” Dean chuckled. Beneath Cas’ stricken stare, Dean shifted the blanket lest he expose himself further. The fabric slapped wet and nasty against his thigh.

“Barbecue sauce,” Cas muttered. “And you like the smell of barbecue sauce. I am...all too aware...that some people perceive my appearance differently depending on their preferences - nothing big, you understand, but I might seem a little taller, or my eyes might appear a different color, small things - but it never crossed my mind that my  _ scent  _ might behave in the same fashion. So you sniffed me and smelled...barbecue sauce.”

“Pure as a KC classic rack of ribs. Delish, Cas.”

“You didn’t know I was a djinn.”

_ Now we’re getting somewhere. _

“Don’t get me wrong,” said Dean. “You’re a weird dude, and I had my suspicions - you glow sometimes, that’s pretty damn not-human - and then there was the way you were totally chill with the ghost car that appeared - but no. Mostly I just thought you smelled good, and that you were the most awesomely weird bastard I’d ever met.”

“Fuck.” Cas’ head dropped back onto the top of his armchair with a  _ thunk _ .

“Damn, Cas - didn’t know you had it in you.” 

“Yes, you’ve made that very clear.”

“I meant the swearing.”

“I meant...everything else.” Brow knit, Cas lifted his head as he slumped in the chair. Dean looked away, torn between amusement and the urge to run the hell away. “Barbecue sauce! Oh, Dean. I’m so sorry. When did you find out?”

“When you said you were a djinn, after I bit you.”

“Worse and worse!” Cas exclaimed. “You really did have a terrible night.”

“Ayup.” Dean bit at his lip as Cas’ blue eyes flashed in the light and met his. “But…” Damn, Cas’ eyes were awesome, and if Dean hadn’t become human, he’d never have known. “I...um...I don’t really think you’re a monster, Cas.” The slow smile that bloomed over Cas’ face was stunning. “You’re...ya know...actually pretty awesome.” Sodden blanket clung chill to Dean’s legs and he bit back a shiver. Only the cold getting to him. Definitely not a result of Cas’ unwavering gaze.

“You’re cold.” Cas’ expression went from pleased to concerned and he started forward again. 

“It’s nothing,” Dean lied, trying to wave Cas back into his chair. “I’m fine.” Half-risen, Cas stared him down. “What? You wanted to talk. Let’s talk.”

_ What the fuck else do we have to talk about? _

_ Exhausted every single topic. Obviously. _

“We have talked,” said Cas sternly. “You’ve been...exceptionally...honest with me.”

“Or I’ve lied about everything,” said Dean with a smirk. Cas quirked an eyebrow.

“Thank you, Dean.” The deep, pure sound of Cas’ grateful voice sent another shiver down Dean’s spine.

“For lying about everything?” His smirk spread to a grin. Had he really thought Cas was too far when he sat in the armchair? Cas was  _ way  _ too close.

“For…” Cas shook his head. “I hardly know how to explain. If...um...if you still want to leave, I’ve got clothes you can borrow. I’ll drive you anywhere you want to go. We could…” Cas shook his head again.

“And if I don’t want to leave?” asked Dean. Cas’ head jerked up, mouth agape, hope brightening his eyes.  _ Aw hell, he’s hot. I’m so screwed. But…  _ “What then, Cas? What if I  _ want  _ to stay?”

Dean said it. And he  _ meant  _ it. Fuck, he wished he could stay with Cas. He wished he could stay for a damn lifetime. Maybe that was fuckin’ insane - dad would sure say so - but Dean felt like shit when he was alone. And when he was with Cas he felt…

... _ human...happy...content...safe...welcome… _

_...home... _

Blue flared like lightning, swirling around Cas like the coming tide. 

“Dean,” Cas fricken  _ groaned _ , the lone word emanating through Dean like heat spreading from his chest, tingling to the tips of his fingers, seeping down to his toes. The light grew, intensified until Dean had to squeeze his eyes shut. All he could see was blue, his eyelids scant barrier to the glow. 

“If you want to stay...I...I hope you’ll stay.” Cas paused and Dean held his breath. It felt like they stood on the precipice of something, and Dean would have given a fuckton to know  _ what _ . 

“I.  _ want _ . you. to. stay.”

The world washed blue. Dean gasped and  _ plummeted _ over the edge of...whatever the hell that had been. The anxieties that had troubled him through the night, that had troubled him through the years - the fears and worries that had kept Dean rootless, kept him on the move, kept him miserable, kept him a dog, kept him a  _ monster _ \- dissipated in an instant.

In their time together, Cas had never given voice to his own desires. His actions had communicated his feelings, but there had always been room for doubt, for suspicion, for fear.

Not any longer.

Dean had never been wanted  _ anywhere _ . Sometimes, people had  _ said  _ they wanted Dean around, but it was never about  _ Dean _ , it was always about what Dean could do for them. Humans had taken him in because they wanted a dog around. Children had snuggled close to him because  _ look at the cute puppy dog, what a good boy _ . 

Sam had wanted Dean around because Dean took care of him.

Dad had wanted Dean around because...fuck if Dean knew...probably because Dean took care of Sam, so dad didn’t have to.

No one had ever wanted Dean to stay  _ because  _ he was Dean.

But Cas...Cas had said he wanted Dean to stay...

“I want to stay,” Dean whispered.

...and Dean was  _ positive  _ that Cas meant it.

“Dean. Please. Stay.” Cas’ sincerity was unmistakable, undeniable, as all-encompassing as the blue dazzling so bright that Dean didn’t dare open his eyes.

_ Where the fuck else would I go? _

_ No more lies. That’s not why I’m staying. _

_ I’m staying for Cas. I’m staying because the thought of leaving is like imagining one of those fucking skinwalkers ripping out my other ACL. I’m staying because Cas called me  _ Dog _ and sat on the floor to eat with me and told Jo I was his roommate and left the door open for me. I’m staying because Cas let me leave, and even when he said we had to talk, he never made it about him - he never took away my choice. _

“I want to...I really do…”

_ I’m staying because I….because this is where I  _ need  _ to be. _

Aaaand Dean was fricken  _ crying _ . Abso-fraggin’-lutely great. And if that wasn’t bad enough, his damn teeth were chattering because of the fucking  _ cold  _ blanket clammy against him. The chill tingle making goose bumps along his arms and legs was the weirdest damn contrast to how  _ warm  _ he felt inside. Fricken pathetic. And Cas was sitting opposite him, surely staring at him…

...judging him?...

_...no, never that. Cas won’t judge me. _

Because Cas was...just Cas.

And when Dean was with Cas, Dean was  _ Dean _ .

“Then stay. Stay with me.”

_ Forever, Cas. As long as you’ll have me. _

The words wouldn’t come, his throat dry. 

Dean nodded.

Relief and pleasure were palpable in the room.

_ Maybe that empathy thing is contagious. Cause I swear I can feel how  _ happy  _ he is right now. _

_ Or maybe...maybe it’s just that  _ I’m  _ happy, and it’s so damn alien and new that I can’t believe I’m actually feeling it. _

_ But shit, being here feels  _ good.

The blue glare faded and Dean hesitantly opened his eyes. Cas still sat opposite him, but now he leaned forward avidly, elbows on his knees, hands bouncing with excitement. His grin showed his perfect teeth and his eyes were rimmed with tears.

_ He looks as happy as I feel. _

_ How the fuck did he come to like me so damn much when all I did was lounge around on his couch and eat his food? _

_ Don’t question it. _

_ No - it’s fine to question it. Maybe tomorrow I’ll ask him. And he’ll  _ tell  _ me. How fucking novel is  _ that _? It’s  _ exquisite _. _

A tear streamed down Cas’ cheek.

_ I wish I could kiss you right now. _

“Now, come on,” said Cas, beaming. “Let’s get you warmed up.”

_ You don’t have to do anything to warm me up, Cas. Your presence is like the sun, and all I want to do is curl up in your glow and bask. _

“Sure,” Dean croaked. “Let’s go.”

And together, they headed upstairs.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So I made a fair-sized revision to my plot outline, removing an obstacle that just...didn't feel like it belonged any longer, not with how the story had gone. The only impact this has from the pov of ya'll is that I've taken out the one tag that pertained to that part (the "panic attacks" tag. I've had enough of Dean's anxiety. I hope you have too...).

“Well?” Cas patted the bed beside him.

Dean goggled.

“What?” As if the initial suggestion wasn’t fucked up enough, Cas actually quirked his damn head to the side and looked at Dean like  _ he  _ was the weird one.

“Uh...Cas...you get I’m…” Dean gestured at himself, clothed now in an old pair of Cas’ PJs. Wearing Cas’ clothes  _ was  _ weird...and  _ wonderful _ . The subtle scent of barbecue sauce enfolded him and the fabric was so soft it didn’t bother his skin. After the torture of water pattering on his skin during a shower, terry cloth tearing at him when he dried off afterwards, and a damn razor clawing at his cheeks, the pajamas were safe. After the shock of seeing himself shaved, his drying hair curling around his ears, Cas’ casual resumption of his “normal” utter weirdness was refreshing…

...and so...well, so  _ Cas _ .

“You’re what?” asked Cas blankly.

It had been weird when Cas had invited Dean to bed when Dean was a strange  _ dog _ . Now that Dean was an even stranger  _ man _ ...

“I gotta spell it out?” Dean said, exasperated.

“I have no idea what you mean, so...yes. P-l-e-a-s-e t-r-y s-p-e-l-l-i-n-g.” Cas  _ finger-signed the damn letters _ as he went. Not that Dean understood ASL, but he recognized the gestures. Heck, after so many years rarely bothering to read, Dean could hardly figure out what the fuck Cas had  _ spelled _ .

“Dude. D-u-d-e. I’m a dude. And you’re a dude. And there’s only one bed.”

_ Why is he acting like  _ I’m  _ the weird one? Who shares a bed with a dude they’ve had one conversation with ever? _

“So...you’re homophobic?” Cas said, skepticism writ large in his tone and expression.

_ Okay...well...I’ve shared a bed with plenty of people I’ve just met. _

“What? No! I’m queer as fuck. I just…” Dean shrugged, struggling to explain himself. 

_He’s isn’t the “love um and leave um” type, nor is he the “one night stand” type, nor is he the “so hard up for money that he’ll do anything for a fiver” type. All of which is to say...Cas ain’t a damn thing like_ me _. Thank God for small blessings or some shit._ _He should be telling me to get my ass down to the couch not...this!_

Not that Dean was prepared to explain  _ any  _ of that.

“I’m not a dog!” Dean managed.

“Dean...from the first night I invited you to share my bed, I knew you weren’t a dog.”

“Look, if four paws and a tail and a slimy cold nose and whiskers and shit don’t make me a dog, I dunno what does.”

“None of those things make you a dog, because you’re not a dog. Then, you were a skinwalker in the  _ form  _ of a dog. And now you’re a skin walker in the  _ form  _ of a human. But you’re still a skinwalker, and you’re still  _ you _ . You have always been you. I invited  _ you  _ to share my bed then. Why would I do differently now?”

Dean blinked. “Oh.”

“Yes. Oh.”

“...you’ve lost me again.”

“I’ve been presumptuous. You’ve had a difficult day, and I’m sorry that my assumptions have led you to be this uncomfortable.” Cas rose and crossed the room, striding past Dean toward the hallway. “I’ll change the bedding in the guest room and you may sleep there. Or I can drive you to a hotel, if you’d prefer privacy. Not that I want you to go! But if you’d prefer--”

“No!” Dean couldn’t smell demon any longer but the memory of Sam’s scent thick in the guest room tickled at his nose. _Right...the smell of demon...that’s the only reason I don’t want to move to the guest bed_. Cas stopped in the doorway .”..no...I’d...uh...rather stay here. With you. Right here.”

Cas blinked at him.

“Then what’s the problem?”

Good question.

Cas looked baffled and even  _ that  _ was hot.

_...there is no problem...it’s all cool...there’s absolutely nothing awkward about sharing a bed with the most gorgeous dude I’ve ever fricken met...hmm...well, you see, we’re both tall and your bed’s only a double...I’ve got a cold and I don’t want my coughing to keep you awake...how many lies can I think of? Just gotta pick one and convince him I mean it. _

_ Or...ya know...this whole ‘telling the truth’ thing has been working out pretty well for me so far… _

“Look, Cas...you’re hot and you smell awesome and when I was a dog...when I was in the  _ form  _ of a dog...? Anyway,  _ then  _ sharing a bed with you was no biggie. But now…?” Dean managed another uncomfortable shrug. Standing was growing unpleasant. He wanted to shift his weight, but his injured leg wouldn’t support him. The wound on his back felt strained and stretched, like it was in danger of tearing open. He didn’t think it actually  _ would _ , but the feeling that it  _ might  _ was garbage. 

Cas looked even  _ more  _ baffled.

“What?” Dean demanded. Cas shook his head. “Come on -  _ what _ ?!” Cas’s lips shifted into a subtle, slight, obnoxious, gorgeous smirk. 

“You find me attractive?”

“Just...get in the fucking bed, okay?” Grumbling, Dean limped to the bed and flopped down. The mattress bounced and squeaked.

_ Only when I use my eyes. And my nose. And my ears. And my tongue. And I haven’t gotten my hands on you yet and my paws couldn’t feel jack shit but, well, call it a hunch but I bet you’ll feel pretty awesome too… _

Going crimson, Dean buried his face in the thin blanket Cas had spread on the bed to replace the comforter Dean had yoinked then ruined.

“Have you looked at you?” Dean muttered.

“I believe we addressed that earlier,” said Cas. “I am in fact quite familiar with my reflection, and aware that by some definitions I would be considered a good-looking individual. That said, I was under the impression that your olfactory sense was the primary way you interacted with me up until today. Is the scent of barbecue sauce alluring in some fashion I’m unfamiliar with?”

“Dude. Good barbecue is totally a sexual experience. You gotta get outta Pontiac, head south and get the good shit. Then you’ll understand.”

Dead.

Fucking.

Silence.

Dean twisted so he could side-eye Cas.

Cas’s grin grew as he gave Dean a long, undeniably deliberate, un _ deniably _ approving look up and down. 

“I don’t have to leave Pontiac to understand ‘the good shit.” Cas actually. made. air quotes.

_ Yeah he’s gorgeous...and he’s fricken  _ adorable _. _

“I believe I’ve found a source of ‘the good shit’ quite close to home.”

_...I’m gonna sing the doom song now...doom doom doomie-de-doom… _

“May I join you in bed, Dean?”

_...ya know, I always thought that when my doom came… _

“Just get your ass over here.” Dean scowled.

_...it’d be more...doomful?  _

The lights clicked off, plunging the room in dark night.

_ Doomified?  _

Cas’ footsteps shuffled across the room.

_ Doomtastic? _

Dean bounced as the bed jostled and Cas’ weight settled on the edge of the bed and shimmied closer to Dean…

_...ya know. More shitty. _

...and shimmied closer to Dean...

_ This is...pretty much the exact fricken opposite of shitty. _

...and curled around Dean’s back.

“Is this where you want me to be?” Cas whispered. Humid air ghosted over the back of Dean’s neck and he shivered. With a concerned noise, Cas curled closer, enfolding Dean in warmth. His touch was heavy, the pressure of Cas’ weight bordering on painful. That something so intense was also so  _ fricken awesome  _ was surreal, and new, and a freaky as fuck. 

Dean never wanted either of them to move.

“Yeah...yeah, this is good…” Dean reached back, found Cas’ hand, and pulled it around his waist. “Real good.” The wife beater Cas wore to sleep bared his arms, and the abstract motifs tattooed on Cas’ arms glowed ghostly. “This is...familiar. And awesome.” Easing into the embrace, Cas wrapped his arm around Dean’s side and cupped his fingers over Dean’s heart, humming with a deep, pleased note with every exhale against Dean’s shoulder.

“Cas...um...is this where  _ you  _ want to be?”

“This is  _ exactly  _ where I want to be.” The blanket flipped over both of them - Dean didn’t have a fricken  _ clue  _ how Cas had pulled that off, and didn’t want to move enough to look and see - and warm air encompassed them. “And I’m sorry  _ again _ that my assumptions have caused you discomfort. I thought you must know I was interested. I certainly had an erection enough mornings we woke up together.”

“Eh, morning wood happens.” Dean resisted the urge to rub his ass back against Cas’ crotch and see if evening wood would happen, too. “It’s not like you ever whipped it out when I was lying here.”

“You never expressed reciprocal interest, at least not in a form I could understand, and I didn’t wish to make you uncomfortable, so I left to…take care of things.”

“You are a way kinkier fucker than I gave you credit for,” Dean laughed. “Fucking dog me would be...like...a whole nother level of perv.” Dean  _ had  _ had sex as a dog - bitches in heat were fricken  _ irresistible  _ \- but...not with a person.

That was just...weird.

_ And if Cas wanted to? _

_ Hell, I’d be there with bells on. _

_ Shit. I’m as weird as he is. _

“It’s not about ‘dog you’ or ‘human you,’ Dean,” Cas murmured. “It’s just about...you. It’s about the  _ person  _ you are here…” Cas’ fingers kneaded at Dean’s chest. “...and here…” Fingers ran through Dean’s hair, combing the long, damp strands out, and blue swirled around Dean’s face. “You feel things so powerfully...you want things so  _ desperately  _ when you allow yourself to want them at all...I wish I could share with you how this  _ feels _ for me…”

_...like warmth and a welcoming smile...like the taste of sweat on his skin after a jog and the smell of barbecue sauce thick in the air...like curling up beside you and you combing your hands through my fur... _

“You’re incredible, Dean.”

_ Being with you is indescribable, Cas, because you can’t possibly comprehend how spectacular you are to my senses when I’m a dog...just like I can’t grok how you sense me, as a djinn _

“I regret every time I thought that and didn’t  _ tell  _ you.”

_...but consensus is... _

“I regret every assumption that I made that nearly drove you to leave.”

_...being together is fricken  _ awesome _ … _

“I won’t make that mistake again. I’ll tell you, however often you wish to hear, how glad I am that you came back, how pleased I am that you’re here, how much I anticipate waking up beside you tomorrow morning, and every morning.

_...and for the rest…all the things we can’t communicate because he’s a djinn and I’m a skinwalker... _

“Don’t gotta keep apologizing, Cas...all’s well that something something--

_...that’s why we use our words. _

“‘All’s well that end’s well,’ it’s a Shakespeare play written in--”

_...even when some of our words are ridiculous. _

“What I’m trying to say is...I can’t experience what you feel but I guarantee...what I’m experiencing is fantastic. Being with you…”

_...I can do this. For him, with him, I can do this.” _

“Being with you feels...has  _ always _ felt...awesome.”

Cas’ ease suffused the air, the blue glow intensifying then fading away. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Fuck, Cas...stop saying that. Thank  _ you _ . For absolutely  _ everything _ .”

“Anytime, Dean. Truly, literally, I swear - anytime.”

God, Cas  _ meant  _ that. How was Cas real? How was any of this real?

But it was. Dean  _ truly  _ believed it was. Getting to this point had been way too difficult and way too painful to be any kind of bullshit wish fulfillment dream. And there was still more tough times to come.

Dean still had to speak to Sammy.

But that wasn’t today’s problem.

Today, there  _ were  _ no more problems.

“Thank you, Cas,” he whispered again.

“Anything for you, Dean.”

_ Anything for you, Cas. _

And, held snug and close, safe and secure, surrounded by filaments of comforting blue, Dean drifted to sleep.

Dean and Cas drifted to sleep  _ together _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters will likely slow down for the week. My mom arrives in a couple hours and once she's here it'll be like 24/7 Thanksgiving (shopping, cleaning, cooking, then actually celebrating) until Friday morning. I'm gonna try to keep up the writing pace, but it doesn't help that I've gotten sick again (I've had a headache for 24 hours straight, thanks for nothing brain) and just...I'm optimistic but also realistic that I might have trouble. Also, a lot of the remaining chapters will be longer. (I'd guess they'll basically all be in 2k to 5k range).
> 
> Based on my current outline, we've got about 20k to go.
> 
> Remember when I said this story wouldn't hit 50k words?
> 
> hahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaa.


	17. Chapter 17

Twitching away the dregs of fatigue, Dean opened his eyes to limpid early morning light. Heat surrounded him, trapped by the blanket draped over his shoulders, maintained by the soft pajamas he wore, heavy against his back where Cas lay beside him. Meager pain accompanied each breath, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle, nothing to how he'd felt even the previous day. He was a hum...he was in  _ human form _ ...and a night’s sleep had reset his senses so that seeing and feeling wasn’t so overwhelming, and smelling and hearing wasn’t so...underwhelming.

Cas yet slept, silent, weight rising and falling slowly and regularly against Dean. The hand that had cupped Dean's heart draped limply over Dean's side, black tattoos anchors of reality in the surreal gray dawn.

Cas’ hard cock poked at Dean’s ass cheek.

Best.

Morning.

Ever.

_ Fuck, that’s  _ literally  _ true. How depressing… _

_...but not as depressing as I’d’ve found it a couple days ago. _

Experimentally, Dean ground back against Cas’ crotch. Once upon a time, sex had been either casual and fun, or work and, well, necessary, but becoming a skinwalker had killed his libido aside from when pheromones and instinct took over upon scenting some poor desperate bitch. It had been so long since Dean felt aroused that the sensation was novel. Cas mumbled brokenly, lips soft against Dean’s neck, and shifted; his cock slotted against Dean’s ass.

Dean bit back a moan.

Libido  _ so  _ resurrected. 

Dean nudged back again.

“Dean…” Cas’ fingers tensed then relaxed as he skimmed down Dean’s belly toward his hardening dick. “Only if…” Dean twitched, bumping Cas cock, and Cas moaned out, “Only if you want to.”

“Fuck do I want to,” Dean breathed fervently. “I want--”

Cas fingers curled around Dean’s half woodie.

Intense pleasure swamped Dean, so powerful it bordered into pain. 

_ Too much, too much, far too much, have to--  _

With a gasp, he scrambled away from Cas. The blanket slipped from him, dousing him in a shock of chill air, and he nearly fell off the bed before he caught himself, panting and teetering.

“Dean!” Alarm had Cas upright, haloed by the sunlit window behind him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

“It’s fine!” Dean interrupted.

“No it’s not! You--”

“It  _ is _ ,” insisted Dean, sitting up to face Cas. “I want this, Cas.” Cold and quaking aftershocks of pleasure-pain made his shoulders shake, and he clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. “I want you.” The distance between him and Cas was an unacceptable chasm. “Have since I got the first whiff of you.” He tried to shift to his knees, to crawl closer, but his hurt leg screamed agony and he sank back, staring frustration at the blankets bunched around Cas’ legs. “Just...that was...well, no one’s touched my dick in twelve years.” Cas’ erection made an impressive tent of his pajamas and Dean swallowed back desire. “You do the math.”

_...too much, too soon...I’m acting like some prissy virgin prima donna, gonna scare him away, make him think I’m too much trouble... _

“You already did the math,” Cas frowned. The comment was so incongruous that it startled Dean from his concerns; he jerked his head up and met Cas’ eyes. “You just said it’s been twelve years.” Cas’ lips slid into an easy smile, and Dean barked a laugh.

“Got me there,” he conceded. “Can we...I dunno...take things slow?”

“Slow…” The word rolled around Cas’ mouth as if he were savoring a delicacy. 

With an awkward  -  _ not shy, nope, I’m Dean fucking Winchester and I  _ do not  _ do coy  _ \- smile, Dean caught the edge of his pajama shirt and tugged it over his head. 

“Yes,” said Cas with a sharp intake of breath. “I think we can take things...slow. “

_ Gotta make this quick, kid, my wife is waiting in the car. _

“I’m sorry I got carried away before.”

_ Gonna fuck you so hard, Dean.  _

“If I’d thought things through, I’d have proceeded more cautiously.”

_ Gonna make you come, boy.  _

“You should know...this is pretty new to me, too.”

_ Gonna feel so good inside me, can’t wait... _

“I’m worried I’ll get carried away.”

_ Gonna use you ‘til you scream.  _

“Merely being  _ with  _ you feels so good, Dean.”

_ Gonna fuck your throat raw.  _

“The potential potency of intimacy...honestly, it frightens me a little.”

_ Gonna mark you up with my come, you little bitch. _

“So please...keep talking - keep telling me what you need?

_ Gonna own your twink ass. _

“Will you do that for me, Dean?”

_ Gonna... _

“May I take care of you?”

_... _ may _ I take care of you… _

“How do you  _ always  _ say the right thing?” whispered Dean.

_ How are you the most beautiful creature - inside and out - I’ve ever encountered?  _

“Well, I  _ can  _ read your mind.” The words, tinged arrogant and accompanied by a smirk, hung heavy in the room until Cas beamed a dazzling smile at him and Dean broke into laughter that Cas warmly joined. Laughing felt  _ amazing _ , shattering the tension, like the weight of a fricken mountain falling away from his shoulders. “Is that a yes?”

_Just_ _gotta use my words…_

The room went quiet, redolent with their lingering humor. Dean nodded, but Cas didn’t move. “Please…” Dean whispered. Cas’ smile went gentle, his eyes alight.

“I want you to feel so good,” said Cas. “You’ve been hurting so much, for so long...would you lie down here, Dean?” Cas patted the spot where Dean had spent the night, the spot where Dean had spent every night since Cas first invited him to stay, and Dean obeyed with alacrity. By the time Dean snugged down comfy in the divot he’d formed overnight, Cas had tugged off his shirt, baring his chest.

Dean  _ stared _ .

Dean had seen Cas naked many times. He’d had a sense, as a dog, of pale skin etched with dark lines, but only with clear human vision did he recognize the magnificence of the view before him. Dim light showed spare flesh, lightly tanned, shaved clean. The smooth curve of Cas’ abs revealed sculpted muscles every time he tensed to inhale. Intricate tattoos accentuated every perfect curve, meandering lines and abstract figures and pinpoint dots broken only where scars criss-crossed atop them. The urge to roll closer and trace the patterns with his tongue was so powerful that Dean was in motion, only to be arrested by a gentle but firm hand n his shoulder, nudging him back to the bed. 

Cas shadowed Dean’s movements, shifting to straddle Dean’s hips. His eyes glimmered blue, casting his face into shadow. Cas’ legs were tensed as he balanced over Dean, gentleness obvious in his every telegraphed movement, his every question.

_ Want to touch him... _

“May I touch your chest?” 

Dean froze, fingers outstretched.

“Dude, are you seriously gonna ask permission for  _ everything _ ?”  _ Do  _ I  _ have to ask permission for everything? _ “Way to kill the mood…”

“Yes or no?” Cas asked. “I can’t compromise on this. You’re so sensitive - so responsive - and I won’t risk hurting you. Also…”

“...also?”

“Yes or no, Dean.”

“Yes. Duh. Of course I want you to--”

A rough moan interrupted Dean, his tattoos glittering with swirling motes of blue. Leaning back on his heels, Cas reached out to gently skim his fingertips over the prominent bones of Dean’s shoulders, lingering in the shallow at the base of his throat. Dean’s breath quickened. The flesh beneath Cas’ fingers fluttered, his touch so light Dean didn’t feel a trace of resistance, only a tingling shiver that drifted further down Dean’s body with every pulse of his heartbeat.

_ Oh, ohhh, this is good... _

“Thank you for trusting me,” Cas breathed. 

_...this is  _ soft _... _

“It means the world to me that you’re easy with my touch. May I…” Cas’ gaze trailed down Dean’s chest, and Cas swallowed hard enough to make his adam’s apple bob. “May I lick your nipple?”

_...this isn’t how sex is supposed to work...I can’t... _

“Seriously, this is ridiculous!”

_...just take what you want, for fucks sake. I’m laid out for you like a fricken prize turkey... _ ... _ just take what you want...it’s fine... _

“Please, Dean…”

... _ I’m yours...so use me… _

“...please…”

_...wait did I say that, or did he? _

_ Why can’t I just answer like he wants? It’s not like the answer to any of his questions has been  _ no

“Yes…”

_...I’d fricken  _ love it  _ if he licked my nipple, so... _ . 

“...want you to…”

A groan dragged from Cas’ as he leaned down. The sound reverberated through Dean’s chest as Cas gently lap at the sensitive skin. Dean’s insides went molten and hot, as sultry as Cas’ tickling breaths. Flesh puckered - Dean’s aroused nipple, his cold neglected other nipple, his arms tingling with goosebumps. His cock thickened as if reaching for Cas as he knelt over Dean. Blue whirled around Cas, whirled around them both. It wasn’t merely color; there was something more to it, something solid, something  _ real  _ \- something magical, though Dean knew fuck-all about magic other than how to gank the fuckers who used it. Whatever that  _ something  _ was, Dean felt  _ more _ , felt Cas’ desire for him, felt the echo of the satisfaction Cas derived from bringing Dean pleasure.

Almost, he thought he could feel what Cas felt - almost, he thought that shared blue conferred Cas’ empathy on Dean.

“May I…” Cas’ voice went deep, guttural. “May I suck on your other breast?”

_ And what is Cas really asking? What did he mean when he left that “also” hanging? What does Cas need? _

_ Not just… _ “...yes…”... _ but also… _ ”...fuck, do I want that...” 

Another groan and a swirl of blue accompanied Cas shifting, settling, pursing his lips around Dean’s nipple and sucking. 

“...want  _ you _ , Cas…”

Even  _ that  _ was gentle, suckling like a massage as Cas swallowed, and swirled his tongue around Dean’s areole, and swallowed, and nipped.

_ Cas reacts to my desires. And every time I  _ want…

“Play with my other nipple,” Dean demanded.

_...I give him something he  _ requires,  _ something he wants, something he gets off on. _

Lips not moving, Cas obeyed with a moan, twisting and carefully dragging his nail over the puckered flesh.

_ I want him to feel as good as he’s making me feel. _

And he  _ glowed _ .

_...and that means making sure he knows...in detail...how...how perfect, how special, how ideal, how exceptional...how much his attentions mean to me. _

“Kiss me…”

_ It’s not enough that I feel it, not enough that he experiences whatever whispers his empathy communicates to him. _

_ I have to tell him. _

_ He deserves that I tell him. _

“Kiss me, Cas.”

I  _ deserve that I tell him. _

_ We deserve each other. _

Dean could only stare, wide-eyed, as Cas drifted over him. His tattoos shone, constellations and nebulae that shifted and morphed into new configurations as Cas’ magic surged. Cas’ eyes were shut, his eyelids made incandescent by blue they couldn’t contain. His expression was enraptured as he came closer, and closer, and closer, and…

...their lips met…

...and Dean could only moan and  _ feel _ . Cas mouth was plush and hot as their lips brushed together, separated, joined once more. Cas was sloppy, wet, tender yet desperate as they kissed again, again, again. Bliss painted Dean  _ blue _ . His eyes closed, but he could still see Cas, enhaloed, a phantom as real as life against his eyelids. Their lips worked together, separated, joined, and Cas palmed at Dean’s sides, and Dean reached out, curled his arms over Cas’ sides, wrapped his hands over Cas’ shoulders, because…

_...because… _

_...gotta use me words - gotta do it for him... _

“...never want this kiss to end…”

A moan caught in Cas’ throat as he bent to bring their lips together again.

“...never want this moment to end…”

Kissing had always been an imposition, an intrusion, an unwanted intimacy distraction from the main event, but with Cas, their mouths working against each other felt like the pinnacle of decadent bliss. Exploring every way the brush of their flesh could bring pleasure was an adventure. Discovering every different desperate noise he could tease from Cas was a mission Dean could devote a lifetime to.

“...never want to stop feeling as good as I do when we’re together…”

Cas’ lips parted as he gasped each vocal exhale into Dean’s mouth. Sour-sweet air flooded Dean’s nose and he swallowed it down eagerly. His tongue teased at Cas’ lips, delved into Cas’ mouth to sample Cas’ palate. Morning breath should be gross - Dean’s mouth sure tasted a little like ass - but the flavor was so  _ Cas _ , not barbecue sauce but still exquisite, delicious despite also being a smidge gross. Dean sucked at Cas’ tongue, savoring every drop they exchanged. Cas pulled back with a groan, hips grinding down against Dean’s crotch. Bliss exploded outward from the contact, the friction, the pressure, so powerful that tears pooled in Dean’s eyes. Cas kept moving up...up...away...

“...Dog…”

Dean locked his elbows and jerked Cas back down. Their weight crashed together. A jolt of pain from Dean’s injured ribs grounded him before he could fricken  _ sublimate  _ with pleasure. Cas’ voice broke in a guttural growl. Their lips crashed back together, Cas’ body shifting sinuous against Dean’s as Cas kissed him, and rubbed at him, and rutted his cock against Dean’s crotch.

“...Dean, I…” 

The echo of Cas’ pleasure was overwhelming, as all-encompassing as the blue that shone from Cas like moonshine. Dean forced his eyes open to see Cas expression pinched and strained, his mouth agape.

“...I can’t…”

The son of a bitch was moving away from him again.

“Don’t you fricken  _ dare _ ,” Dean hissed. “You’re right where I  _ want  _ you.”

With a shattered sound, Cas crumpled, lips smearing slick over Dean’s shoulder. His cock thrust, thrust, thrust, and then he went still save for desperate, heaving breaths. A thatch of dark hair criss-crossed Dean’s vision, making the dazzling blue hazy. Dean flailed a hand over Cas’ back to swipe the hair away and stared in awe over the body splayed atop him. Cas  _ shone _ , light pulsing in time to the rise and fall of Cas’ back as he breathed. The light was so intense that Cas’ pajama bottoms glowed, fabric unable to contain him. The glow of Cas’ emotions was as bright, inseparable from Dean’s own pleasure.

_ Abolutely. Gorgeous. _

“Cas…”

Dean pet gently down the divot and curve of Cas’ spine. Cas shuddered and squirmed, shaking his head frantically, and Dean froze.

“De…” Cas spluttered a pained noise. “...Deeeeean…” ...not a pained noise. Cas was  _ laughing _ . “Tha’ was....you’re  _ incredible _ …damn...” Cas spasmed, shook, thrust, moaned.

“Did you...holy shit, Cas, you just  _ came _ ?” 

Cas giggled.

They’d hardly even touched - they’d only  _ kissed  _ \- and Cas was  _ gone _ . 

“Ssssssorry,” Cas slurred.

_ This is how much he wants me - this is what my desire does to him. _

“Not much ‘sperience.”

Dean was so hard it  _ hurt _ , his desire like a fever, but he schooled himself to patience.

_ I can wait. Cas will take care of him. _

“Hard to find someone cool with…” Cas lifted a blue-limned arm and made a vague gesture.

“...you just pointed at all of yourself…”

“...yeah…” Cas giggled. “All of me...love that joke... _ hard _ to fin…” Another gale of laughter burst from Cas. He ground his softening cock against Dean’s erection, trailing off with an adorable quavering whimper. Dean bit his lip against a moan, rocking his hips up from the bed once before he managed to stop himself.. “...you...you’re  _ great _ , Dog.”

“Pretty great yourself,” murmured Dean. He lifted a hand to the back of Cas’ head, massaging at his scalp. Cas sighed out a moan, limp and languid atop him, nuzzling at Dean’s neck.

_ I want you so badly.  _

Dean’s cock twitched.

_ It’s like...until you told me you were interested, it never crossed my mind that being with you was even an option, but now that I know... _

Cas went rigid.

_...I want all of you... _

Cas sobbed a moan.

_ I want you to touch me _ .

“You okay?” asked Dean.

_ I want you to fuck me. _

“It’s never…”

_ I want to fuck you. _

“... _ never _ …”

_ I want  to go to sleep with you in my mouth, wake up with my tongue tasting of you. _

“ _ Dean _ .”

_ I want you to need me. _

“... _ been _ like…”

_ I want you to stay with me. _

“... _ this… _ ”

_ I  _ want _ … _

Cas twitched, squirmed, tensing and relaxing again and again. Blue blanketed them, wreathed Dean’s head and flowed outward, dazzling his vision. All Dean could see was Cas. There was nothing in the world save the two of them. Cas’ hand fumbled between their bodies, scrambled his way into Dean’s pants with the  _ thwap, snap _ of elastic, and fricken  _ grabbed  _ Dean’s dick.

_...holy  _ shit _ … _

A gasp burst from Dean as he arched from the bed.

“So  _ hot _ , Dean,” Cas snarled.

Reality blanked, Dean’s awareness narrowing to the feel of Cas’ grip on Dean’s dick as he rubbed at Dean, kneaded his balls, their bodies writhing together. Cas jerked him off roughly, grating out incoherent, aggressive, desperate sounds. Rapture flashed red over Dean’s vision, dissipated through Cas’ glow to turn the room purple. Dean thrust up, the pain of moving obliterated in the bliss drowning him.

“Tell me,” Cas growled. The words were meaningless. Cas swiped a thumb over the head of Dean’s cock, smearing pre-come over his dry grip, as he jerked and pulled, as rough and inept and fricken  _ amazing  _ hand job as Dean had ever had.

“Tell me  _ again _ .”

“Wha…?” 

Seriously, Cas was fondling Dean’s fricken  _ brains  _ out through his fricken  _ dick _ ....

...and then his hand went still.

“Please, Dean,” pleaded Cas. “Need it…”

The pleasure that had been building in him, swirling through his insides, lifting him higher and higher, dissipated in an instant.

“... _ need _ you to tell me…”

Dean  _ wailed _ .

The blue encompassing them dissipated to nothing.

_ No... _ please... _ don’t stop...I want…I need... _

Cas whimpered; Dean felt the waxing of Cas’ magic, the return of  _ blue _ , as heat jolting along his length, piercing him with bliss.

“...want you…” Dean whispered fervently. 

“Yes... _ yes _ …” Cas bumped his forehead against Dean’s chin, teeth digging into Dean’s clavicle. Dean gasped, thrusting into Cas’ loose grip.

“...want you so bad…”

_...how did it get this intense?  _

Everything was  _ blue _ .

_ Where the fuck did all...all this  _ feeling _...even fucking  _ come  _ from? _

“...don’t stop…” Cas snarled.

_ How is being with Cas this fricken good? _

Cas’ fingers tensed as he stroked Dean.

_ It’s unreal. _

“...don’t stop…” Dean sobbed.

Cas’ free hand latched onto Dean’s side, his lips sucking into the curve of Dean’s neck. Pain flitted through Dean’s pleasure. Blue floated around him, surrounded them like they floated in the sky, the bed a cloud beneath them. Dean felt disembodied, ethereal, a mass of nerve-endings all firing off bliss simultaneously.

_...this is too much, too much...he’s using magic, he must be… _

_...this  _ could  _ be a dream… _

_...and I  _ don’t give a shit  _ anymore… _

_...because it’s so damn good. _

“...want to  _ come _ !” gasped Dean.

_ Don’t I deserve one good thing in my fricken life? _

Cas squeezed the head of Dean’s cock, fingers curling and tugging at his balls..

“Then come.” Cas’ guttural voice echoed through him like the voice of God…

...enrapturing him…

...demolishing him…

... _ blueing  _ him…

“Please!” Dean howled.

In an explosion of heat and ecstasy, Cas granted Dean’s wish.

For a second or a minute or a fucking  _ lifetime _ , Dean would have fucking  _ sworn _ he ceased to exist. He was nothing but blue, weightless bliss, perfect and content and warm and safe for eternity.

...and when he came back to himself…

“...no idea, Dean…” Cas murmured. Warmth curled along Dean’s side. “No idea what it would be like when it was mutual, no idea what it would do to you. I hope you’re alright. I hope that was good. I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did, because...I cannot  _ imagine  _ going the rest of my life without experiencing that again. I want…” The solid presence shuddered beside him, a weight draped over Dean’s stomach shifting, tensing, pulling him closer. “Please be alright. Please come back to me. I  _ grant  _ wishes...I don’t get to have my own...but is it too much to hope that you want this...want me...as much as I want you…? Oh, Dean...I...”

“...Cas…” croaked Dean.

“...you’re awake…”

“Yep.”

“You heard me.”

“Yep.”

“Shit.”

Dean shrugged Cas’ arm from him and flopped to his side. 

“I want this.”

Cas lay at his ease beside Dean, hair disheveled, tattoos glimmering, lips spread in a wide, happy grin. 

“Dean?”

Cas’ eyes shone with pleasure and magic. 

“I want you.”

Reaching out, Dean traced the line of Cas’ cheek, shivered at the tickle of Cas’ scruff against the pad of his thumb, followed the curve of Cas’ neck to the thin lines of Cas’ tattooes as they seemed to sprout and grow, organic, from his neck. 

“Dean…”

The patterns shifted beneath Dean’s fingers, the curls and dots moving, flowing into new shapes, drawing Dean’s attention to different places on Cas’ torso.,

“I want to stay here, together...I want to call this home…”

The twinkling lines were hotter than the muscled flesh beneath. 

“I’ve told you before, and I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear: this is  _ our  _ home.” Cas’ voice was solemn as if he were taking an oath, and every word felt like a promise.

_ This isn’t possible. _

Troubled, Dean caught his lip between his teeth and raked his gaze up Cas’ torso to find Cas watching him, eyes wide and aglow.

_No where, no one,_ nothing _,_ _is this perfect._

“Is this real?” Dean whispered.

Cas snagged Dean’s exploring fingers, pulled them to his lips, kissed and sucked at them tenderly. Dean shivered, struggling to keep his eyes from slipping shut in pleasure.

“I’m serious, Cas.”

More impossibilities - Dean’s dick was getting hard again.

“Dean, I know we haven’t known each other long, but have I  _ ever  _ done anything to lead you to think that I also wasn’t serious - about this place, this time - about  _ you _ ?”

The events of the past few months replayed in fast-forward in his mind.

It was all...solid, clear, perfect in every imperfection. 

And Cas had always,  _ always  _ been forthright. They’d had issues, miscommunication, confusion, but Dean couldn’t recall a single instance of  _ deliberate  _ dishonesty.

Cas was always serious about Dean, even when he was joking around.

And Dean was…

“I’m serious ‘bout you too, Cas.” Even when Dean was telling himself  _ I shouldn’t get attached, I shouldn’t trust, I shouldn’t stay _ , he’d lingered. Because Cas had been important to him from the very first  _ hello, dog. _ “For whatever that’s worth.”

_ That anyone would accept me as Cas has accepted me, treat me as Cas has treated me...care for me as Cas cares for me?...seems impossible. _

“It’s worth everything,” said Cas. “You’re worth…” Cas’ smile was sweet, soft, kind, open… “You’re worth everything.” ...Cas’ smile was everything. 

_ This  _ has  _ to be a fantasy right?  _

“What do you want to do to today, Dean?”

_ But why would a fantasy include Sam smelling of demon?  _

“More sex would be good…” Dean’s cock shifted against the sodden fabric of his pajama bottoms; Cas glanced down at hit, leering.

_ Why would a fantasy include a random run in with periodic ghost?  _

“Obviously.” Cas rolled his eyes. 

_ Why would a fantasy include other skinwalkers? _

“I meant after you’ve told me all about how much you want my lips on your penis.”

_ In what fantasy would I get injured, almost die, and then recover? _

“There’s gonna be an after?” asked Dean, dazed and aflame imagining those lips sucking down his come. Cas quirked an eyebrow at him. “Right. After. Um...I want to deal with those skinwalkers.”

_ Why would Cas, as the creator of the fantasy, even bother to integrate himself as a character? _

“Good plan.” Cas gave an approving nod. “They’ve been weirdly quiet since the attack, and Sam and Jo haven’t been able to locate their nest.”

_ Why would a fantasy integrate  so many implausible components - why would a fantasy compel me to wonder if it  _ was  _ fantasy? _

“I know where it is. I observed them the whole time I was away.”

_...this  _ must  _ to be real... _

“Oh excellent. So, a blow job, and then shall we go kill them?”

_ Only reality could be this fucking weird. _

“...I’d...I’d  _ really  _ like that, Cas…”

Grinning, Cas licked his lips.

_ Like seriously. What the fuck? _

With a whip-fast movement, Cas was across the bed, tugging Dean’s pants down.

_ Aw, screw it. _

Cas’ lips closed hot over his dick.

_ Reality is awesome. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been wondering guys - there are various jokes about the "different" Cas' of fanfiction - there's a Tumblr post about it [here](http://bert-and-ernie-are-gay.tumblr.com/post/112437951401/four-castiels-of-fanfiction). I have not yet indicated what Cas' last name is in this fic. I know it, and I think it'll get included by the end of the fic? It just hasn't been relevant yet.
> 
> But it has led me to wonder...if ya'll have thought about it at all...which Cas do ya'll think this is? :D


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is up sooner than expected, and much shorter...I decided to split this bit into multiple scenes so I wouldn't have to bullshit my way through the transitions.

The parts of Dean’s day that hadn’t been amazing had been fricken  _ wretched _ .

“Absolutely not.”

Dean tried to explain how he’d surveilled the skinwalkers, living in the fields around the house for two weeks, and the whole time he talked Cas shoot him a zillion sympathetic, concerned,  _ ridiculously aggravating  _ looks, willfully ignoring Dean’s insistence that he was  _ fine _ ..

“But--”

Dean tried to draw a map to show Cas where the skinwalkers lived, but he hadn’t written in so long that he could hardly hold the fucking pen and his jerky, wavering scrawl was indecipherable shit scribbles.

“No.”

Dean tried to step outside and sniff the air to confirm the skinwalkers were still around, like a fucking  _ moron  _ who still thought he was a fucking  _ dog _ ; the worst part was Cas zillionth-and-first concerned look when Dean came sheepishly back into the kitchen.

“Dean--”

Dean tried to lie to Cas about how achy his injuries and their sexcapades had left him, because dammit, he’d fought through much worse over the years, but Cas stared him down until he confessed; when Cas called Sam to discuss a plan of attack, Dean was consigned him to lookout duty.

“What part of  _ no  _ ain’t gettin’ through to you, Cas?”

...but this was the fucking limit...

“The part where you’re risking this entire hunt because you refuse to have a single conversation with your brother?”

“N. Fucking. O. spells  _ no _ , Cas.”

“He’ll be right next to you! Do you think he won’t recognize you? You won’t be able to avoid this today - you won’t be able to avoid this forever!”

“Oh yeah? Watch me.”

Dean turned from Cas, facing the window at the end of the hallway. Afternoon sun, already graying toward twilight though it was early, illuminated the pale wood of the floor, glowed off the white walls.

“Please consider what you’re doing!” Cas pleaded. Dean rolled his eyes, then shut them. “He’s your brother.” Biting his lip against anticipated pain, Dean shifted. “He loved... _ loves _ you, and he thinks you’re dead.” The changes to his back were the most painful part of the process - his spine changing shape, contorting his healing wounds, buckling under the weight of his head and forelegs. “He has no idea what happened to you.” Next time Dean did this, he’d have to remember the change sucked  _ way  _ less if he got down to all fours  _ before  _ he became a dog. “Think how happy he’ll be to--”

Cas turned and broke off with a sigh.

“Or you can do that, I suppose.”

Fuck, Cas was  _ blurry _ .

“I’ll won’t tell him your secret, Dean, nor will I force you, coerce you, or trick you into speaking to him.”

But he smelled fricken  _ spectacular _ .

“This is your conversation to have, on your own terms, when you’re ready..”

_ Really, Cas? If you really thought that you’d leave me the fuck alone about it and accept that “on my own terms” is fucking  _ never _. _

“We’re not done talking about it.”

_ Fuck yeah, we are. _

“I’m not sure how you’re afraid he’ll react, but I am sure, absolutely positive, that Sam will be ecstatic to see you.”

Dean dropped to a sit, his tongue lolling out. 

“You can’t just... _ hide  _ from--”

There was a knock on the door.

Sam always did have impeccable timing.

“You can’t avoid this forever - it won’t go away,” Cas muttered as he undid the locks.

_ It will if  _ I  _ go away… _

There was no bite to the thought. Dean hadn’t the least desire to leave Cas. But it was fucking bullshit that staying with Cas necessitated seeing his brother. The smell of demonic  _ wrong  _ seeped through the cracks around the door, surged to repulsive intensity when wind and Sam gusted in. Dean couldn’t stop himself skittering back, baring his teeth, and snarling. Sam turned from greeting Cas and sighed.

“He...um...he really hates me, doesn’t he?” said Sam.

“I don’t think that’s it.” Cas gave Dean a hard stare. “Give him time, he’ll come around.”

_ In your dreams, Cas. _

“Well, as long as you’ve got plenty of that potion left - ya know, if he bites me again - I’ve got enough problems, adding on  _ is a skinwalker  _ might be a hill too far.”

_ Wait, he knows what I am? _

_ Fuck today. _

_ Okay that’s not fair, today wasn’t all bad, far from, but-- _

“Alright folks, here’s every silver knife I own,” Jo announced, depositing a clattering sack on the floor. “Are we seriously doing this? How did you even find where these cats are hiding?”

“They’re dogs…?” Cas corrected with a frown. Jo quirked an eyebrow at him. “Dog told me.”

“Your dog...named Dog...told you where to find the dogs?” she asked. Cas nodded. “With words?”

“I showed him a map.” Cas shot Dean a long-suffering look that communicated loud and clear ‘I will cover for you today but not forever.’

_ What happened to “I won’t force you, Dean?” _

“He can read maps?”

_...I might  _ have  _ to leave... _

“He’s a skinwalker,” said Cas, rolling his eyes. “He possesses a human intellect.” Sam stared at Dean, and Dean growled. “When he chooses to use it.”

“And he’s, like, totally copacetic about killing other skinwalkers?” Jo asked skeptically. She pulled a knife from her bag and twirled it, eying Dean suspiciously.

“I’ve been wondering that too - don’t skinwalkers have a pack mentality?” Sam held a hand toward Dean, expression going resigned when Dean snapped a warning at him.

_ If you fucking touch me… _

_...but it’s Sam… _

“That’s what all the Hunters at the Roadhouse say,” Jo agreed.

_ How can that possibly be Sam? _

_...but Cas said… _

Cas stared down Jo and Sam in turn.. 

_ I don’t think Cas would lie to me... _

_ No. As crazy as I am for trusting him...I  _ know  _ Cas wouldn’t lie to me. _

“What?” they chorused.

_ So either Sam isn’t a demon, or he’s got Cas duped. _

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” said Cas acidly. “The Hunters who say that skinwalkers are beholden to an alpha - these are the same individuals who kill me for being a djinn, and kill you for being a demon? Aren’t they?”

“But I’m not a demon!” Sam protested. He even sounded like he meant it.

_ Of course a demon would lie and say he’s not a demon. _

“And you’re different,” Jo added, smiling affectionately at Cas, then turning a stink-eye toward Dean. Dean glowered at her.

“Dog is a skinwalker, and he’s not part of a pack. I trust him with my life - which he saved, if you’ll recall.”

“That’s another thing! Skinwalkers can only be killed by silver…”

“Or by djinn poison, or by the bite of another skinwalker, or by a demon, or by a werewolf...Jo, we’ve been over this.” Cas’ attempt at a patient explanation was tinged with exasperation. “What Hunters don’t know could fill an encyclopedia - a tome I’m  _ not  _ prepared to write, especially considering their likely reaction to being told how misinformed they are. I appreciate that you’ve been educated to believe that skinwalkers are savage pack creatures utterly servile to their alpha. However, I’ve explained to you that’s not the case, you’ve seen  _ evidence  _ that’s not the case, and if that’s not enough to convince you, there’s nothing more I can say. I  _ will  _ implement the plan as we discussed. If you don’t wish to be a part of that plan, you are welcome to leave.” 

Man, Cas was hot when he want all tough and ominous. His eyes were even fricken  _ glowing _ , and the smell of barbecue sauce was so strong it drowned out the demon scent. Standing to flank Cas, Dean finally calmed enough that his hackles settled down flush to his back. He mirrored Cas’ hard look.

“No, we’re good,” said Jo hastily, taking a step back.

_ Why am I supporting him in this?  _

“I like the plan!” Sam added with a grin.

_ The plan is bullshit. _

“I thought you would.” Cas returned the grin. 

_ But...it’s Cas... _

“We’re ready to go if you are…”

_...and he’s not wrong...it’s a good plan... _

“Absolutely. Let’s do this!”

_...a good plan that I just happen to fucking  _ hate _... _


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Added a fairly major tag - I know I don't like fics with kids much, and tend to avoid them, so I'm sorry if the addition is a deal breaker for any of you. I tried to work around this but it became increasingly clear to me that this was the direction the story was going and I couldn't seem to steer it away from this in a way that made sense, and I finally surrendered to it...

Wind scoured the exposed hillside, whipping up clouds of loose snow to drift like mist obscuring the clear night sky. The evening had a surreal, eerie feeling, like the world was asleep and nothing disturbed the past-midnight darkness, except it was only 6:30 PM. Cold penetrated Dean’s fur, dissipating the warmth trapped around him, and he shivered and ached and paced. The driveway was long, hardly a car drove by, the nearest residences were nothing but hazy lights in the distance, and the house stank of skinwalkers and incipient violence, yet here Dean was, stuck patrolling the perimeter like a fucking newbie on his first hunt.

_ And while I’m over here useless as day-old frozen shit, Cas is… _

The door bell chime carried on the next gust, frequency shifting softer and louder as the wind died down. Dean paced closer to the house, concentrating on hearing, ignoring the road. No danger would come from that direction. No one would come and bail the skinwalkers out. Acting as a lookout was pointless. Two  _ weeks  _ of watching and the only people who had come to visit were suppliers and rich stupid assholes who wanted the award-winning so-called puppies. They had no friends, no allies, who might randomly stop by. 

_ Overconfidence will get you killed, boy. _

No other monsters had come near - none of the creatures lurking in the Pontiac forest were stupid enough to attack a skinwalker pack.

_ Nope, only ones stupid enough for that are-- _

A square of light grew on the porch as the front door opened, Cas’ silhouette a shifting black blob. Only the aroma of barbecue sauce on the wind kept Dean calm, kept him confident that Cas was  _ fine  _ and prevented Dean from charging forward to help.

_ As if I could charge anywhere, I can hardly run without face planting onto the pavement. Fucking leg. _

“Good evening,” Cas voice, low and confident, cut through the evening silence. Another burst of frigid wind drowned out his next line, but they’d gone over the plan four times at Cas’ house and twice more during the car ride over, and Dean had a pretty good idea.

_ Yo, what up dawg? Cas Krushnic here.  _ Dean paraphrased, watching the exchange on the porch, able to see nothing, able to hear nothing but the wind, able to smell only snow and skinwalker and Cas.  _ You might remember me. Ya’ll assholes tried to murder me a couple weeks back? Maybe cause I’m a djinn? Maybe cause I’m a Hunter? Not sure, but I’m oh so incredibly sorry with ice cream and a cherry on top that I ganked three of your loved ones. But I’m betting this is all a massive misunderstanding. My hunting buds and I ain’t seen you do anything evil. Other than the trying to kill me part, that is. We’d love to live and let li-- _

The rattle-smash- _ bang _ of gunfire - a shotgun, Dean guessed from the deep echo - interrupted Dean’s monologue, interrupted  _ Cas _ . Fury and fear had Dean moving before he thought; his injured back leg went out and he sprawled to the ice, claws biting in but finding no traction. A shout carried, voice unrecognizable, and a burst of smell reached Dean: gunpowder, ash, scalding metal, skinwalker, barbecue sauce…

...no blood.

_ Thank fricken God _ .

Scrambling, Dean got his feet under him, straining to hear every sound. 

_ Rustle-scrape _ ...wood on wood, the skinwalker trying to close the door, judging by the shrinking and wavering of the light flooding from within the house.

_ Bang, clatter _ ...Cas catching the door, the glass rattling in the old warped panes.

“Do it!” shouted an unfamiliar voice - the Hunters weren’t the only ones with a plan.

_ Snarl, bark _ ...from the back of the house, where Jo and Sam were waiting.

“I understand that you’re frightened…” Cas, _still_ trying to be fucking _reasonable_ , fucking _asshole_ , was gonna get himself Swiss cheesed by buckshot.

_ Click-ka-chick _ ...the shotgun being cocked again.

“...I regret that if you attempt to shoot me again, my compatriots and I will be forced to def--”

_ Rattle-smash _ -bang!

There was a  _ creak, snap _ , as Cas bounded out of the way. The door exploded into splinters and shards of glass, the sound of shattering wood drowning out everything.

“Drat!” 

Except that.

The scent of blood flooded the air.

Only fucking  _ Cas  _ would say  _ drat  _ about getting  _ shot _ .

With a snarl, Dean forced himself upright and charged forward.

“I didn’t want to have to do this.” Only fucking Cas would sound  _ sincerely regretful _ .

The front porch dissolved into blurry blue.

The distance between Dean and the front of the house seemed endless, and he struggled over the slick driveway. Haste drove him, but he slipped or tumbled whenever he moved quickly. The porch was a chaos of lights and darks and blue, blue, blue. Barbecue sauce smelled so powerfully even the blood scent was drowned out. A fucking tanker-truck full might have exploded over the front of the house. Interpreting the sounds that reached him was night impossible with no visual or scent clues to help him. A sourceless rushing sound obscured every nuance. Dean could only guess, and fear the worst.

_ Crash.  _ The lights in the house flashed out, presumably Jo out back cutting the power.

_ Bang.  _ The wind swirled ash under Dean’s nose as someone opened fire - a hand gun this time, he thought, and from the back of the house.

_ Scream. _ Not Cas, but it could have been Sam.

_ Slap, slap, slap.  _ The blue light vanished, plunging the porch into darkness. 

Every tentative step drove Dean  _ crazy _ . Anything could be happening at the house, and there was Dean, fucking  _ hobbling  _ down a damn driveway.

_ Yip.  _

_ Boom.Shout.  _ That sounded like a fucking  _ explosion _ , though Dean didn’t catch a whiff of any combustion.

_ Yip, yip. _

_ Patter, patter, patter, patter, patter, patter, patter.  _ Feet running over wood.

_ Crack _ . Ice fracturing.

_ Slam!  _ Wood on wood, probably a door, from the back of the house or maybe the barn.

_ Bark, bark. _

_ Yip, yip, yip, yip! _

Dean skittered to a stop atop the staircase. The porch looked... _ wrong _ . Instead of a smooth expanse, it seemed jagged and broken, and the air reeked of wood rot and flaked rust. If Dean tried to walk across that, he’d fall through. 

_ Yip, hoooooowl! _

_ Crash _ , as something in the house crumbled and shattered.

_ Yip, yip, yip, yipyipyipyipyipyipyip-- _

The puppies.

_ \--yipyipyipyipyipyip-- _

Oh, hell.

_ \--yelp, whimper, yip-- _

Cas approaching solo and knocking on the front door? Bullshit. Sam and Jo skirting around the back as if the skinwalkers wouldn’t smell them a fricken mile off? Utter bullshit. Leaving Dean in the driveway, as if anyone would come to help the skinwalkers, as if Dean would be able to do fuckall even if backup  _ did  _ come? More bullshit than a bull literally made of actual shit. But there was the one part of the plan Dean had been  _ fully  _ on board with. The puppies were only fricken kids - the oldest maybe 6 months old, the equivalent of a child seven or eight? - and the youngest only weeks old - and they  _ weren’t to be harmed _ .

_ \--yelp, yelp, yelp, yelp-- _

The terrified cries weren’t coming from within the house. Dean leapt from the porch, landing hard on his front paws and straining his ribs, and careened over the snow as he rounded toward where, theoretically, Sam and Jo were, and the puppies were.

\-- _ whimper, yelp, scree-- _

Sam was a fucking  _ vet tech _ ‘cause he loved animals so fricken much. There was no friggen chance he’d break the plan to go after a bunch of doe-eyed little beagles.

_ \--scratch, skitter, yip, yip, yip-- _

And Jo and Sam were a ‘thing,’ and there was even less friggen chance that Sam would be an item with anyone who’d hurt a puppy, no matter how tough an exterior she projected.

_ \--yelp, yelp, whine-- _

And if Sam knew someone was hurting a puppy, and was able to stop it, he would.

_ \--yowl, yowl, yooooowl-- _

Dean could only assume the worst on every fucking count. Cas would have to take care of himself; the puppies needed him

_ \--yooooowl-- _

_ And Sam? _

_ \--yooooowl-- _

Rounding to the back of the farmhouse, Dean dove forward into a  dense drift, forging a path. Pain wracked his back at the strain, every breath burning his chest. The barn was a black shadow before him. There wasn’t a whiff of Sam or Jo or Cas in the air, which at least suggested Sam was okay. Dean could hardly hear the sounds of battle in the farmhouse over the rush of the wind and the strains of his own breathing. The back of the building was suffused with the scent of skinwalker adults and puppies and the animals that lived in the barn…

...and a  _ lot  _ of blood…

Dean pushed himself harder, trying to make sense of the layer upon layer of scent information coming to him. Hay and must and sawdust. Rye. Ice. Mildew. Manure. Skinwalker, and skinwalker, and skinwalker, and skinwalker.

Cow’s blood. There had been at least one cow in the barn. 

Pig’s blood. There had been two sheep. 

Dog’s blood…

...if anyone hurt those puppies Dean would rip them limb from limb…

A growl built in Dean’s chest as he surged through the open barn door. A flashlight lay on the ground, highlighting the scene in eye-stinging brights and impenetrable darkness. Wetness soaked, hot, into the fur of Dean’s paws, melting the ice clumped against his skin - skinwalker blood, pumping from a dying man to Dean’s left.

A man  _ way  _ too big to be a puppy.

_ Fucking  _ phew _. _

“Who’s there?” demanded a youthful voice. A boy stepped into the light, brandishing a blood-coated knife. Dean’s nose itched at the antiseptic scent of silver. Panicked yips and heavy breathing made the barn sound alive as small feet scratched and pawed in the shadows.

“Please...don’t make me...don’t hurt us...mom? Dad?”

_ Oh, fuck _ .

Dean quelled his growl, struggling to project himself as non-threatening, and padded into the light. Blobs of heat and stench made dark mounds in the stalls, the kept animals the first victims of whatever the fuck the skinwalkers had been planned for their pets and their  _ kids _ .

_ Whatever the fuck they had planned? Pretty fricken obvious. These sons of bitches were gonna kill their kids. Too much trouble in a fight, I guess. Sick bastards. _

_ And Cas and Sam didn’t want to believe they were monsters. _

_ Shoulda listened to me. We’re  _ all  _ monsters, every last one. _

“Who are you?” the boy asked warily as Dean dropped to a sit in the pool of golden light, tail splayed behind him. “Stop...don’t come any closer!”

_ Way to lie to myself. I also wanted to believe they weren’t monsters. Because Cas...I don’t think Cas is a monster... _

Dropping to the ground, Dean lay down, paws up, belly exposed, tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth.

_...and because, if these skinwalkers aren’t monsters, maybe I’m not one, either… _

The terrified yips finally died down. One tiny puppy stumbled out of the darkness, sniffing him curiously. Dean resisted the urge to bat playfully at the adorable girl, allowing her to investigate him. She smelled of ginger and orange and the horse blood drying in the fur of her belly.

“Stay away from him, Alex!” The boy’s voice quavered. He reeked of fear despite his brave front. He was  _ maybe  _ ten years old, surrounded by his siblings and cousins, the oldest and most responsible in the room, forced to protect the others from dangers they should  _ never  _ have been forced to confront.

_ If we hadn’t attacked the skinwalkers, this wouldn’t have happened to the children. _

“I know...I know about you…” The boy swallowed hard, brandishing the knife. Stinking blood dripped from the blade, the  _ plop, plop, plop _ surreally loud in the barn.

_ But, if we hadn’t attacked the skinwalkers, these puppies would have been turned to monsters in truth, told to infect other humans in the service of the pack alpha, torn from their family to be sold to strangers. _

“I know why you’re here…”

_ And even if they weren’t sold, their parents were willing to kill them in a pinch, just to avoid some inconvenience. With parents like that, could they  _ really  _ have been happy, even if they stayed? _

There was no less threatening Dean could appear as a dog.

_ Just like dad did to me and Sammy. At least dad gave enough of a shit about me to send me away instead of killing me when I got turned. _

Rolling on the ground hurt Dean’s back, spread tight agony through his chest.

_ Oh. Yeah. Definitely why my chest hurts. Damn have I gotten good at lying to myself. _

“...I don’t want to have to...but I will...I already...I  _ killed  _ Uncle Nick...I…”

The salty tang of tears was subtle. Dean could hardly smell anything else. Poor kid was terrified and young and weak and brave and trying so, so hard to be a grown up.

_ He’s me.  _

“No...no, I...I didn’t have a choice...I couldn’t…”

_ No. I was never that sweet and innocent. I’ve been culpable since the minute I saw mom and Dad pushed Sam at me and told me to take him and run. _

The only way Dean could comfort him was to…

_ He’s  _ Sammy _. And for all the times I never could help or protect Sammy... _

...closing his eyes, Dean shifted.

_...I  _ have  _ to help him. _

The boy swallowed a frightened yelp.

Right, cause the best, least intimidating thing Dean could do to help was change from an ugly but relatively harmless looking dog, into a big-ass naked grown dude with a head of shag like the fucking unibomber. 

Fucked that one up.

_ Like I fuck up everything. _

The boy skipped back, holding the knife in trembling hands.

Even better, without fur to protect him, it was cold as hell.

“Hey, kid…” Dean’s teeth chattered, and he couldn’t stop from tucking his knees in and curling up in a vain at maintaining his body temperature. “Is there, like, a blanket or some shit in here?”

Yeah, Dean was a creepy ass adult, but he was also naked and freezing.

Hopefully less intimidating.

“Who are you?” The boy sounded...confused. Human vision confirmed what Dean’s nose had told him; the kid was young, scrawny, short, with dirty blond hair and eyes that shone golden when the light struck them. Definitely a skinwalker, and definitely too young for this shit.

“Heyo. I’m Dean. Skinwalker. Hunter.” The longer Dean spoke, the warier the boy grew; Dean didn’t need a dog’s sense of smell to fricken  _ feel  _ the terror emanating from him. “Definitely absolutely not here to hurt you.”

“Liar,” snarled the boy, sliding back into the shadows. His defensive grip on the knife was completely inept. His fucking parents hadn’t even taught him how to fight.

_ Of course not. If he could fight, they’d have less control over him. _

With difficulty, Dean lowered his legs to a seated position, grabbing some straw from the splintery barn floor to cover his dick. He meant no harm, and when he was a dog he was naked all the fucking time, but it still felt wrong to let everything hang out in front of a kid. Trying not to shake with his shivers, skin pimpled by gooseflesh, he extended his arms, open, welcoming.

“Look. I’m fricken frozen. I’m naked. I sure as  _ fuck  _ am not armed. If I was going to hurt you, can you think of a single reason I’d do any of this?”

“No…”

The man...Uncle Nick?...gave a rattling sigh and went still.

“...oh, God…”

The knife clattered to the ground. Instinct  _ screamed  _ that Dean should sprawl forward, grab it, arm himself, prepare to defend himself. No matter his appearance, the kid was a skinwalker, and Dean  _ knew  _ he’d killed someone, and it was just  _ stupid  _ not to take him seriously as a threat.

_ I don’t care if it’s a kid, boy, it’s a  _ monster _. It was born a monster, it’s been raised a monster, and it’ll be a monster ‘til the day it dies. Which should be  _ today _ , now that I’ve got it in my sights… _

The boy stared at his blood-splattered hands, tears rolling down his face, shoulders quaking with fear and sobs and cold.

_ Hey. Yo. Embodiment of dad in my head. Why don’t you take a long walk off a short pier and shut the ever-loving fuck up? _

The curious puppy - Alex - tottered out of the darkness once more, sniffing blindly toward Dean’s outstretched hand. Unable to quell shivers, Dean struggled to keep still as the puppy’s wet, cold nose brushed his hand. A single soft lick spoke of her approval for whatever she smelled on Dean’s hand, and with a delighted  _ arf _ Alex bounded into his arms. Warm fur against his tingling skin made the rest of him feel colder by comparison.

“If you...if you hurt her…” The boy’s voice quavered; the child was even less threatening than he had been, hands shaking, face streaked red, shoulders hunched. His tears made dark, frozen splotches on the barn floor. He squatted in slow motion, reaching toward the silver sword, as if lessening his speed would make Dean not see what he was doing. 

Alex curled up against Dean’s chest, heaved a contented sigh, and promptly fell asleep.

Another puppy rolled into the pool of light, chasing his tail, oblivious to all danger until he bumped into Dean’s leg, yelped, wheeled to flee, and then instead leapt into Dean’s lap and sniffed his balls.

Awkward.

The boy stared uncertainly at the dogs, at Dean, pointedly  _ not  _ at the corpse.

A third dog emerged from the shadows, a fourth, a fifth, and then Dean was fricken  _ buried  _ in puppies. They sprawled over his legs, knocked him to his back, snuggled in his arms, made a comfy niche of the curve of his knees. Wagging tails made swirling breezes. Hairs tickled him. Little licks and snarfles and far too many cold noses brushed his skin. Dean tried to find every sweet head to pet; the poor puppies had had enough scares for one day, and he  _ wasn’t  _ a threat, even if he was overwhelmed at being dog-piled.

_ And they don’t think I’m a threat. They can smell where I’ve been, smell who I am, smell how I feel, and they’re choosing to come to me. _

“Good dogs,” he mumbled. “Gonna be okay, kids. I won’t hurt you.”

_ I will do my damnedest to be the person these puppies think I am. _

Cold air rushed around him, and he shivered violently as a rough blanket settled over him and the puppies, followed by a small body crowding his back and wet cheeks rubbed at his shoulders.

“You okay, kid?”

“Jack,” he mumbled. Even the fabric of his shirt felt abrasive to Dean’s cold-sensitized skin. “My name is Jack.”

There was gonna be hell to pay over the next few days for letting himself get  _ this  _ cold, but he resisted the temptation to revert to dog form. A little suffering was good for the soul, and the puppies were finally calm, ignoring the stink of blood and their uncle who’d tried to kill them and gotten himself dead in return. If Dean tried to change now - if Dean did  _ anything  _ to startled or disrupt them, it might all go to hell again.

_ Suffering builds character? Fuck that. Another of dad’s so-called truisms that turned out to be utter crap.  _

“You said you’re...Dean?”

_ Suffering is garbage, and never did anyone a lick of good. _

Dean nodded, his chin bumping a puppy, who squeaked and dug rough paw pads into Dean’s chest. 

“Um…”

“Yeah.” Words worked better than body language. One of the perks of being a dude instead of a dog. “That’s me. Dean.”

The breathing of a dozen or more small creatures was the loudest sound in the barn, followed by the rustle of fur brushing fur and skin. Outside, the wind howled, and there was a  _ bang  _ from the direction of the farmhouse, but it seemed a world away.

Jack shuddered against him. “What’s gonna happen to us?” he whispered.

_ Grow a pair, kid. Quit your bitching. Respect your elders. Be happy I didn’t gank you on sight. _

_ Those are things dad said to me at moments like this, when I  _ dared  _ to be a kid for five fuckin’ minutes and ask for some reassurance that we weren’t headed straight to hell in an Impala-shaped hand basket. _

_ Not a single one was anything I needed to hear. _

_ What did I  _ wish  _ he’d say to me? _

_ “It’s gonna be alright.” _

_ “You’re gonna be fine.” _

_ “I’ll take care of you.” _

_ “You’re safe now.” _

_ “I love you, and Sammy, and I’m not gonna leave you again.  _

_ “Wherever we go, we’ll go as a family.” _

_ “Let’s go home.” _

Tears stung Dean’s eyes and he blinked them away.

_ Yeah...no...can’t say any of that. _

_ What would Cas say? _

“I won’t lie to you, Jack,” Dean rumbled tentatively. “I got no idea what’s gonna happen next. But I can say...my friends and I, we’ll be here to see you through it. We’re not gonna ditch you, and we’re not gonna leave you with anyone who’ll hurt you. Knowing that probably ain’t enough for comfort, but it’s all I can say for sure right now.”

“I’m scared.”

_ For fuck’s sake - suck it up! _

_ Not helpful, dad. _

_ Helpful is… _

“I am, too. But you’re not alone. None of us is alone. Whatever happens, we’re in it together. And I’m sorry...genuinely sorry...that I can’t fix this shit and make your life go back to the way it was. After tonight, nothing will ever be the same...but that doesn’t mean everything’ll be bad.”

Jack crowded Dean’s shoulder and wept.

“Seriously. Sorry. But that’s the best I’ve got to offer.”

The blanket smelled of animal sweat and bristled with prickly cow hairs, but the puppies breathed beneath it and warmth grew. Dean had always been solitary, always been isolated, had told himself he didn’t  _ want  _ a pack but this…

...this was nice…

This was what he’d been missing out on all along.

_ Yeah, and for a bonus, they try to kill their kids when shit goes wrong! _

_ “Maybe the skinwalkers aren’t monsters!” Sure got that one wrong, Cas. _

_...but these kids aren’t monsters...they’re...just kids… _

“That’ll, um...that’s enough. Thanks, Dean.”

Light flared, painfully bright. Dean’s eyes flew open and he sat up before he thought, shedding puppies. Startled yelps burst from all around him. Jack clung to Dean’s back as he leapt to his feet...tried to leap to his feet... _ failed  _ to leap to his feet...landed painfully, his injured knee up, the other grinding into the coarse wooden floor. The puppies gathered at his flanks and tumbled about his legs, Alex still clinging to what remained of his lap, and they stared toward the door. The air rumbled with completely unintimidating, adorable growls.

Sam stepped into the light, Jo at his shoulder brandishing a knife.

“Dean?!”

_ Oh, shit.  _

Dean growled.

It sounded even more pathetic than the puppies trying to.

Jack gripped Dean’s shoulders painfully hard.

“No - no fucking way!” Sam goggled, and the scale of Dean’s calamity dawned on him.

Sam  _ recognized  _ him. How the  _ fuck _ ? 

“What is it, Sam?  _ Who  _ is it?” Jo demanded, stepping in front of Sam and threatening Dean with the her bloody weapon.

When Dean looked in the mirror, he hardly recognized  _ himself _ . 

“It’s my brother!”

But Sam gets one glance at him, naked, sans haircut, lying under a blanket on the floor, surrounded by puppies, in a badly lit stinking barn, and knows him instantly.

“Your brother is  _ dead _ . He died, Sam, in a hunt against--”

_ Well, I recognized him instantly when he walked into Cas’ house. Why shouldn’t he know me? _

“Against  _ skinwalkers _ .”

Wisps of blue illuminated the midnight oblivion beyond the barn.

Sam stood and stared.

Jo stood and stared.

“Dean, what’s happening?” asked Jack shakily. 

Cas stepped out of the blackness, took in the scene with a glance, and sighed. “Oh, Dog.”

“Hey, Cas.” Dean took a deep breath and turned to a stunned Sam, getting his feet under him with difficulty. The puppies scattered, some fleeing to the darkness, some freezing in place and yipping in fear, one nipping at his heels. Jack clung to his back, arms tight around Dean’s neck, and Alex scrambled to keep her perch. Dean caught her, cradling her in his arms. “Jack, Alex, don’t be afraid. These are my…”  _ What the fuck even are these three people to me? _ “This is my...friend...Cas, my brother Sam, and his plus one, Jo.” 

Sam blinked at him, took a step forward, and stalled as Alex snarled at him.

“Hey...hey, Sammy.” Dean shifted Alex, who flailed ineffectively to charge Sam -  _ to charge the  _ demon _ , and how can I blame her for that?  _ \- so he could wave mockingly.

“Cas, you knew about this?!” Jo rounded on Cas. “You knew Sam’s brother was living here with these...these…?”

“Monsters?” Dean finished with deceptive mildness. “That what you both think? That I’ve been chillin’ here, forwarding the bullshit skinwalker plan for world domination?” He glared at Cas, who glowered and turned away.

_ Just like dad. This is why I didn’t want to  _ talk _. There’s no  _ talking  _ with some people. _

_ There’s no talking with Hunters. _

“Jo…” Sam looked from Jo, to Cas, to Dean, to the frightened puppies, and back to Dean, expression pinched and troubled.

For a long, frigid moment, they stood in uncertain tableau.

Then Sam broke the stillness, striding to where Dean stood and seizing Dean in a rough embrace, ignoring the puppy squirming between them. Shocked, Dean stood rigid until Sam let go and took an uncertain step back.

“Dean…?” asked Sam. His brow knit as he saw Jo’s fierce, angry expression. Dean grimaced and looked away.

“Jo, he’s not a monster, and he hasn’t been living here. You’ve met Dog. Dog...is Dean. The skinwalker who has been living with me,” Cas explained. Sam’s expression started to transform into shock and fury, but Cas hastily continued, “I only learned that his name yesterday.”

“Still! You could have  _ said  _ something!” Sam snapped. 

“He requested that I not,” Cas apologized.

_ I  _ cannot  _ with this shit. Not here, not now, not at Cas’, not tomorrow, not ever. _

Opening his mouth to speak, a shiver wracked Dean and his teeth chattered.

Everyone froze.  _ Again _ .

“Oh, fuck this,” Dean exclaimed. “Look, these puppies have had the scare of their damn lives cause their charming uncle there--” He gestured at the dead body. “--tried to fricken kill them. It’s cold as balls out here, and I’m guessing ya’ll are done in house?” Jo and Sam blinked at him. Cas nodded. “Awesome. Good job. Sammy, you wanna bless me out, you can later, when we’re all warm, and these kids are safe. Ya’ll comprendo?”

“Your Spanish conjugation is incorrect,” Cas scolded with a smile, moving as he spoke. He gathered the blanket from the ground, walked over, and draped it around Jack and over Dean’s shoulders. One of the puppies leapt from behind a hay bale and tried to bite him, but Cas caught him by the scruff of his neck and gave him a reassuring pet.

“Is it safe, Dean?” asked Jack warily.

“I dunno.” Dean stared down Jo. “Is it?”

“They’re fricken  _ kids _ .” She rolled her eyes as if  _ Dean  _ was the douche bag here. “Of  _ course  _ it’s safe. Come on, pups - and you dogs, too - let’s get out of here.”

It took a few minutes to coax the puppies from hiding, even with Jack helping, but soon they each had arms full of puppies and they were striding down the dug-out pathway between the house and barn, cold searing Dean’s bare feet.

“I can’t believe you’re alive, Dean!” Sam enthused as he skipped ahead so he could walk backwards and talk to Dean. A puppy struggled to escape his arms and he caught it casually and snugged it back into the crook of his elbow. “We have so much to talk about!”  _ Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.  _ “Dad told me...I mean...he said you were  _ dead _ . I can’t believe--”

“I am,” Dean cut in gruffly. Sam blinked uncomprehendingly. “I  _ am  _ dead. And judging by your stench? So’re you.”

“No, I--” Sam’s consternation was surprisingly painful to behold. Dean strode forward, elbowing past him, to walk alongside Cas.

“There ain’t room in your shit car for four grown ups and this pile of dogs,” Dean said, gruff, ignoring Sam’s continuing protests behind me. “Stuff me in the trunk.”

“Dean--”

There wasn’t a damn thing any of the three of them could say that Dean wanted to hear. His only regret in becoming a dog was that he dropped Alex; she was so small that she scampered along surrounded by his legs, Dean’s stomach hair brushing his head. Jack even managed to maintain his perch, riding Dean like a damn horse. In this form, the weight on his back and knees gripping his chest hurt like whoa, but Dean would sooner keel the fuck over than shake the boy off.

“...I know you still understand us...you just can’t reply…” Sam suggested tentatively.

Dean glared at him.

“Dean’s response is...juvenile...but he is correct on two counts.” If Cas exasperation were acid, Dean would fricken dissolve.  _ Which might be preferable to staying with these assholles another damn minute.  _  “First, with him in his dog form, we’ll all fit in the car, and second,  _ now  _ is  _ not  _ the moment to have this discussion.” The flash of the head and tail lights as Cas unlocked his car dazzled Dean’s vision, the  _ beep-beep  _ overloud.

Aside from their conversation and the wind, the night surrounding them was eerily silent.

“Right! Yeah, of course.” A guilty Sam swiveled on a heel to walk forward the last few feet. The trunk popped open. “I’ll just…” Sam lowered the puppies he carried into the car. “...and go double check the scene to make sure we didn’t leave any evidence behind.”

“I’ll help,” said Jo, leaving her puppies as well, and shooting Sam a look that promised they’d spend the whole time talking about Dean’s appearance.

_ She’s probably gonna tell him how horrible I am. _

_ Meanwhile, she tolerates Sam being a damn demon. _

_ Fuck both of them. I should never have agreed to any of this. _

Dean stopped beside the car. The puppies yipped, scrambling for escape, tumbling over each other, as Cas struggled to wrangle them; they only calmed when Jack joined them, climbing from Dean’s back into car. Tails wagged, butts were sniffed, and puppies circled and flopped into a snug pile around the boy as he shifted to his dog form, larger than than others but still well short of full grown.

“Thank you,” said Cas politely. Jack’s tail wagged, slowly, uncertainly, but it wagged.

The longing to join them was an itch beneath Dean’s skin. They’d spent like twenty fricken minutes together, and already Dean longed for the comfort of a puppy pile, the responsibility of keeping track of the little ones, the hierarchy of being in a pack.

“Dean?”

This fucking hunt had been such a shit idea, from conception, to execution, to fucked-up conclusion.

And Dean couldn’t even climb into the trunk and join the puppies without help. He pawed at the bumper and stared pointedly at the trunk.

_ What, gonna make me say it? Maybe I should limp around in a circle just to make the point that I’m useless? _

“...oh.” Cas watched him, sympathy in the downturn of his eyes and the purse of his lips.

_ Seriously. Fuck. My. Fucking. Life. _

At least Dean didn’t have to  _ ask  _ for help. Hell would freeze over before Dean would become a human again. Cas lifted his paws up, propped them on the back bumper, hefted his back legs, and with a mortifying amount of undignified flailing, a thud, and a burst of yips and purr-like puppy growls, Dean tumbled into the car. The dogs sniffed him and settled again, Alex nipping affectionately at his ear, Jack nuzzling in so close to his side that Dean could hardly breathe. Even if he  _ could  _ have asked the boy to move, he wouldn’t have. They were fricken rubbing spleens and Dean...actually kind of liked it. 

_ Fuck.  _ everything _. _

Dean poked his head from the car to glare at Cas, only to find him on his knees in the snow beside the car. Cas reached out, cupped Dean’s snout, scratched his chin, and leaned in to gently kiss Dean’s fur and rub their faces together.

“I know today has been hard, and that this wasn’t what you wanted - but I promise, Dean, this will work out for the best. Sam and Jo - they’re my friends, and good people. Everything will be alright - everything will be great.”

_ Yeah? How the fuck you know that, Cas? This ain’t a djinn dream, ain’t a fantasy...I don’t think...and if there is one thing I’ve learned since mom died, it’s that people like dad, and me, and Sam...and you…things  _ never  _ work out for us. We don’t get to have apple pie happy endings.  _

But Cas’ scent was soothing, his warmth comforting, the puppies cuddling around Dean a balm to his frayed nerves. Dean huffed out a cloud of steam and with it, his irritation.

_ Or maybe I just need to change my definition of “happy ending.” No picket fence, no 2.5 kids and a puppy, just me and Cas...in Pontiac...and maybe Sam...maybe even a pup or two for the pack feeling… _

_...Cas’ front yard has a picket fence...and I don’t know the math of fractional dogs and children but a dog or two that are  _ also _ children might multiply out to 2.5... _

_...and...I’d...I’d like that. I think. _

_ I’d want that. _

Cas glowed blue, and the world beyond the two of them and the little ones crowding around him faded from Dean’s awareness. Being with Cas was dangerous; he made Dean feel like the impossible was in reach. There were things Dean couldn’t have, things Dean shouldn’t have, things Dean shouldn’t even  _ want _ , but when he was with Cas, he could wonder,  _ had  _ to wonder…

_ Maybe... _

“Let’s go home, Dean.”

_...maybe, I’m  _ allowed  _ to want those things. _

_...maybe… _

“Okay, time to go!” Jo called angrily. Cas jumped up and skipped back from the car, and the trunk slammed in Dean’s face.

_....then again, maybe not… _

Dean sighed, and surrendered to the comfort of being surrounded by other skinwalkers.

At least the night wasn’t all bad.

Just mostly.

_ Really? Was it really so bad as that? _

_ Ya know, nothing is going to get better until I learn how not to lie to myself. _

Jack snuggled closer to him.

_ Another problem for another day... _

_...or, preferably, never... _


	20. Chapter 20

“Hey - no - no need to apologize, if you can’t, you can’t,” Jo chirped from her perch on the staircase.

The end of the main hallway spanning the first floor of Cas’ home, tucked beneath the stairs, was dim, cold, and architecturally pointless, but with Jo, Cas, and Sam’s expansive behavior making the house feel full, Dean was happy to retreat to the nook and let the hubbub flow around him.

“Bobby’s good for two!” Sam called from the living room.

The fifteen puppies slept around him. With time to sniff them out, Dean recognized they were from four separate litters, all related, two born maybe a month ago, a third group maybe a week older. Jack was the lone elder, his brothers and sisters presumably sold to unwitting new owners.

“Madison can take one,” Cas announced as he strode out of the kitchen.

Tracking them down would be a task for another day.

“We’re not sending any puppies off alone,” Sam replied idly, the chime of numbers being pressed on his phone loud to Dean’s ears.

Dean lay as flat as he could against the floor, tucked into the triangle made by the stairs, paws spread, head low between them, tail curled around Alex. Jack sat beside him, ears back, teeth bared, eyes golden with reflected light, the only puppy awake while his cousins and half-siblings trustingly slept. There was no way the dogs could stay at Cas’ house, no way the dogs could stay with Dean. Intellectually, Dean got that. Heck, intellectually, he didn’t  _ want  _ to be the new parent of a damn brood of foolhardy toddlers. Four of them had already tried suckle his belly. They weren’t even weaned yet.

“Madison can take  _ one _ .”

Emotionally, it was all Dean could do not to lash out with tooth and claw to keep them with him.

Jo sighed and ended her call. “Henriksen is a bust - he’s too busy with work. We’re not out of options, so keep Madison in the ‘maybe’ column.”

Cas shot a troubled look toward the puppy pile. His scent reeked with concern. Dean hated it, and hated how far away Cas was. Dean had no pack that didn’t include Cas; Cas should be with them, relaxed, at ease, sleeping curled around Dean’s side and buried in puppies.

“But--” Sam broke off, interrupted by a tinny, unfamiliar voice that Dean could faintly make out. “Oh, Garth. Thank fricken  _ God  _ I reached you.”

Instead, Cas was keeping his distance, acting like a damn adult, and Dean was wallowing, hiding as a dog, useless to everyone he cared about.

_ Everyone...Cas. That’s it. I don’t care about anyone else, and no one else cares about me. _

“We’ve got a situation.”

_ Yeaaaaah…I’m calling bullshit. Maybe it’s stupidly premature, but I care about Jack and the puppies, and they’re, like, crazy invested in my being around for some dumb-ass reason. _

“We went on a hunt and ended up with a dozen-plus skinwalker puppies that need a home.”

_ And I care about Sam, even if I can’t figure out why he still gives a shit about me. _

“Right now, they’re just dogs, but near as I can tell around six months old they learn to transform into people.”

_ Heck, I even care a little about Jo, even if she doesn’t give a flying fuck about me. _

“What can I tell you...they’re not weaned. They’ve got infectious bites. Their adult family is dead...trust me, we tried but we had no choice...yeah, if you’re interested, lemme give you the details…” Sam’s voice grew quieter as he retreated back to the living room.

_ They’re working hard to help these kids. And what the fuck am I doing? _

“Who’s left?” The stairs creaked above Dean’s head as Cas climbed up and sat beside Jo partway up.

_ I’m protecting and comforting the puppies. _

“What about Aaron?” asked Cas.

_ I’m using the puppies as a crutch for my loneliness and shit self-esteem, pretending staying with me would do them a lick of good. Fucking pun not fucking intended. _

“His boyfriend’s allergic - he sneezes whenever we meet up with him after one of Sam’s work shifts, it’s hilarious.”

_ I’m lying here like a lump, exhausted and achy from my oh-so-difficult role playing lookout. _

“Why don’t you call Jody? I’m...I’m gonna call mom.” Jo swallowed resignation, like dialing her mother was a call of last resort.

_ I’m playing victim, like I’m the wronged party here instead of the dude acting like a dick. _

“Jody. Good idea. I’m on it.” Cas vaulted down the stairs, gave Dean another concerned frown, and returned to the kitchen.

_ I’m worrying Cas, when I should be supporting him. _

“You can take  _ 5? _ ” Sam’s exclamation carried from the other room. “Are you su--? Oh. Bess says...of course, you’ve got a pack…”

_ I’m doing the skinwalker equivalent of putting my hands over my ears and going la la la la to avoid hearing things I’d rather ignore. _

“Hey, ma…”

_ Some role model for these pups I am, sprawling here acting like a moody teenager. _

“Jo?!” The voice of an older woman squawked loud over the line. ”Are you alright?”

_...so Bobby can take two… _

“I’m fine...no, you gotta listen to me, I’m  _ fine _ …”

_...Christ, I miss Bobby… _

“Ma - for fuck’s sake - hell no, I won’t watch my language - just drop it already! I’m happy here - happy with Sam, and - aargh, quit changing the topic! This is important!”

_...and some chick Cas called Lenore can take two… _

“Puppies. Yes, puppies. Well, sort of - they’re skinwalkers.”

_...this Garth dude wants five… _

“Here’s what happened…”

_...what a lunatic, taking on so many, but that means the entire youngest litter can stay together, which is fricken  _ fantastic _ … _

“Jody can only take one,” Cas said as he returned to the room. “She suggested we call Donna.”

_...I guess... _

“We could try Missouri…” Sam stepped into view, staring at his phone, flicking the screen. “I doubt she’ll adopt a dog but if anyone can think of anyone else to help, it’ll be her.” The determination with which Sam  _ didn’t  _ look down the hallway, avoided even  _ glancing  _ toward where Dean lay, was palpable,

_...that’s nine pups rehomed… _

“Truly?” Jo sighed with relief. “That’s...that’s fantastic. Thanks, mom.”

A shiver wracked Dean as his blood went cold. Jo sounded so happy. Did that mean…?

Cas and Sam fell silent and looked toward Jo.

_ It’s only the after effect of the cold. I’m not worried. _

“Ugh! No! I wouldn’t trust Ash to take care of a goldfish - I wouldn’t trust Ash to take care of  _ himself _ , I think he’d starve if you didn’t look after him - much less ask him to be responsible for a puppy.”

_ How many will she take? I hope it’s all of them. That would be for the best... _

“Also. Um. I opened my own restaurant. Here. I’m staying. Maybe you’ll come visit sometime?”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. He dropped down beside Dean, pushing into his side, reeking of anxiety.

“Right. When you come get the puppies. That sounds...that sounds  _ great _ . I. Um. Ya know. I love you, ma.” Jo hung up without waiting for a reply and made her way slowly down the stairs.

“Well?” asked Sam.

“She can take…” Jo knuckled at her mouth but failed to repress a yawn. “The Roadies will take two.”

Warmth and ease returned as abruptly as it had left.

“So we’ve found homes for…” Cas trailed off and looked at the others. 

Only eleven puppies were being taken.

Eyes skyward, Sam counted, ticking off on his fingers. “Eleven. Thirteen, really - since Jo and I will take two.”

_...at least that means two wouldn’t be far…maybe Jack...and Alex...if they’d stayed with Sam…...I think Sam and Jo would take good care of them...I hope... _

“You do realize this is tantamount to adopting two children?” asked Cas cautiously. “They aren’t merely dogs. They’re people.”

_...wait, that implies that I’m planning to stay here... _

“Oh, geeze, I missed that part,” snapped Jo. “Totally blanked all  _ six fricken times  _ I just explained this to other folks on the phone. And earlier when I watch Dean-o change form? Whoosh, right over my head.”

_...is that really a surprise? _

“Sorry, I--”

_ Of course I want to stay. I want to stay with Cas. _

“No, I’m sorry.” Jo deflated with a sigh. “Talking with her always makes me a bitch.”

_...and maybe...I want to stay with Sam. And Jo. _

_ And Jack. _

_ And Alex. _

_ And as many other puppies as I can keep with me. _

_ Here. In  _ our _ home. _

Blue twinkled around Cas and he glanced toward Dean with a grateful smile. His hair was a mess, he walked with a limp thanks to some splinters that had dug into his leg, he smelled of blood and sweat and death and fatigue and barbecue sauce, and even with his features blurred to oblivion Dean could see how exhausted Cas was.

“I think Missouri is our best bet next,” Cas said, “but the last time I woke her up over something that  _ could  _ wait until morning, she threatened to sic Gabriel on me. If you think it’s important, though…”

He was, paws down, the most beautiful creature Dean had ever seen.

“She wouldn’t!” Sam sounded genuinely aghast.

_...and, somehow, he cares for me. _

“I believe we  _ both  _ know she would.” Cas sighed. 

_ Just as...just as I care for him. _

“Oh God, just  _ thinking  _ about Gabriel joining us is...exhausting,” she managed around a yawn. 

_ How could I leave now? _

“ _ Please  _ don’t call Missouri until tomorrow. Cas, is it okay if we crash in the guest room?”

_...pretty easily, if I wanted to… _

“Of course,” said Cas, dropping whate. “You and Sam are welcome any time.”

_...but I never, ever want to. _

“Awesome - thanks - you rock,” she said, turning to the stairs. Sam once again pointedly  _ didn’t  _ look toward Dean, brow knit as he nodded good night to Cas.

Jack head-butted Dean, scent troubled.

_ I wonder which of those people will be Jack’s new parents? _

With a disgruntled sigh, Dean flopped over.

_ Who cares? There’s nothing I can do about it. _

He heaved a sigh.

_ I care. I don’t want to send him off to a new set of parents who treat him like his actual parents did. They all deserve better, but after what happened with good ole Uncle Nick, Jack  _ especially  _ deserves better. The others are young - they’ll forget - they’ll recover - but Jack will carry this with him for the rest of his life. _

He listened to the creaking footsteps of his brother and Jo heading upstairs.

_ I get what that’s like. _

He gave Jack a reassuring lick on the jowl.

_ They can’t stay with me. I’m not dad material. I’m like that Ash dude that Jo mentioned. I can’t even take care of myself, much less anyone else. _

“I’m heading to bed too,” Cas announced in the silence. He looked to Dean once more, and Dean shook his head. The puppies wouldn’t be with them for long, but Dean would stay with them for the duration. Cas’ bed was large but it would be crowded - and fucking  _ awkward  _ \- if shared with sixteen dogs. Cas gave a single nod of acknowledgement and understanding. Footsteps thudded up the stairs and creaked along the hallway as Jo and Sam headed toward the guest room and Cas trailed after them.

Two of the puppies tumbled together, awoke with startled barks, leapt at each other in mock combat, and flopped back over asleep mid-bite.

A dreaming pup twitched, kicking at Dean’s belly, running in fantasy pursuit of unknown prey.

In her sleep, Alex gnawed on his tail.

Jack whined and crowded him even more closely.

_ But for as long as I’m allowed to have this...I’m going to enjoy it. _

_ I’m going to miss them so much when they’re gone. _


	21. Chapter 21

“Dean...are you awake?”

To a human, Sam’s words would have been a whisper, but they were loud as a claxon to Dean’s ears. He hadn’t slept, to busy stewing about the previous day and worrying about the puppies, but he leapt up, paws sliding on the polished floor, puppies tumbling around him. Jack startled up beside him, bristling and growling; around them, the others scrambled in a scritch-scratch of little paws and confused  _ arfs _ .

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

_ It’s okay _ ...Dean wished he could speak soothingly, to Jack and Alex and the others, to Sam.

_ No. Go fuck yourself, that’s what I wish I could say to Sam. _

_ Why? _

_ Why won’t I consider listening to him or speaking to him? _

_ It’s as simple as changing back to a human. I was willing to do it, for Cas. _

_ But Sam’s different. _

_ Really? How is Sam different? Because he’s my brother? Because I let him down over and over and over, when we were kids, when I was a teenager, when I got bit and left? _

_ Doesn’t he deserve my attention? My trust? My consideration? _

_ So why won’t I give it? _

_ For no good reason. Because I’m a useless asshole. _

Sidestepping to bump Jack in a show of friendly nonchalance, Dean lapped a couple placid licks on his fur. Jack eyed him with concern, glared toward Sam, then corralled the puppies back to sleep as Dean loped toward the living room.

_ If I became human...if I changed to human  _ form _...I  _ could  _ tell Sam to go fuck himself… _

“Can, um. Can we talk?” asked Sam, trailing after Dean.

_...but then I’d have to talk to him… _

Pacing to the far side of the room, Dean stopped and sat in the corner. He felt exposed, naked -  _ hey, I  _ am  _ naked  _ \- and he took comfort in the walls flanking him., took comfort in Cas’ home surrounding him, as welcoming and warm as Cas himself was.

_ I don’t want to talk to Sam, talk  _ with  _ him. But if listening means so damn much to him...listening is the least I can do.  _

Sam hesitated in the archway dividing the living room from the hallway. “I mean, only if you want to,” he said hesitantly. “Not that I can...force you to talk...I mean. You’re a dog. Dog’s don’t talk…?”

_ And why won’t I do more than listen? _

_ Because I’m scared. _

_ I’m scared that Sam will reacts like dad did. I’m scared that Sam’ll blame me for ditching him. _

_ I’m scared that Sam’ll see me, and speak with me, and know me, and he’ll understand - as dad understood, as I understand - that I’m a total fuck up. That I’m poison.  _

“Please?” 

_ Just gimme a minute, Sam - I gotta work through this. _

_ What did I say to Jack last night? _

“Sorry.”

_ That it was okay to be scared. That I was scared too. That everything would be alright. _

_ Tacit in that is that it’s okay to be scared, okay to admit to being scared. _

“It was stupid of me to ask.”

_ Jack’s family tried to kill him. Every adult he’d relied on is dead. He’s putting his trust in my deadbeat, cowardly ass after knowing me for less than an hour. _

“I get it. If you wanted to talk to me, you could have found me any time in the last 12 years.”

_ In comparison to Jack, in comparison to those brave puppies, I’m trash. How can I pretend to help them - how can I use protecting them as an excuse for sitting on my ass while everyone else does the actual work - if I won’t take one measly risk that isn’t even  _ actually  _ a risk? Seriously, what do I think Sam is going to do? Judge me? Blame me for leaving? Get mad at me? Shout at me? Hit me? Kick me out? Of a house that isn’t even his? _

_ Even if he did all that, it’s nothing dad didn’t do. Heck, dad did most of that shit before I ever got bit. It’s not being a dog that makes me garbage, it’s being  _ Dean _ , and Sam’s dealt with me being Dean his whole fricken life. _

_ Right. And dad hates me. For being Dean. _

_ I don’t want Sammy to hate me. If he doesn’t already. _

_ But he doesn’t seem to hate me already. He seems to care. I should give him a chance, give  _ myself  _ a chance. _

_ And yeah - maybe Sam’ll hear me out, and decide I’m...disposable...like dad did. _

_ Or maybe Sam’ll hear me out, and he’ll react like Cas did, like Jack did. _

_ Maybe he’ll think I’m worth a damn, despite all evidence to the contrary... _

“Instead, you left without saying goodbye. You let dad say your goodbyes, by lying to me about what had happened to you.”

_....ooooor maybe he’ll think  _ that’s  _ what he happened. Just. Wow. Of course it was my fault, not dad’s, not the skinwalker’s for biting me in the first fricken place. _

_...well, to be fair...I also think it was my fault. If I’d been a better hunter, if I paid attention like I should have, I wouldn’t have gotten bitten and none of this would have happened. _

“I get it. You don’t want me in your life.”

_ This is  _ exactly  _ why talking to Sam is pointless. All listening to him does is stir up all this toxic shit in my head. I was doing okay. I was happy for like ten fucking minutes, lying in bed with Cas. I could see shit clearly instead of just dumping on myself twenty-four/seven. _

_ When I got bit, I was just a kid - we were both just kids - but Sam thinks back on all that and legit blames me. _

_ So...why the fuck did he want to talk to me, again? _

“But. I’ve missed you, Dean. So much.”

_ Why?! _

“And I get that it’s selfish to force my attention on you when you’ve made it clear you don’t want to interact. But  _ I  _ want  _ you  _ in my life. And I guess I’m an idiot ‘cause I keep thinking, if you’d just listen to me, maybe you’d agree?”

_ The more you talk, the less I agree. _

“I’m doing a crap job of selling myself. Just. You’re listening. So keep listening. When I was 12, right? Dad came in and said you’d died and...I couldn’t believe it. You’d been fine the last time I saw you! I heard you leave. You got bit on the  _ arm _ , for fuck’s sake...so when last night, you were just...there...my first thought was...that you’d left. But I thought about it all night...and I realized. No one knows better than I do how screwed up dad was.”

_ Really? You sure about that? Dad swore to kill me. Can’t imagine he ever said anything like that to you. Always were the golden boy, Sam. He’d yell at you and punish you and even then give more of a shit about you in ten minutes than he gave about me my whole fucking life.  _

“He did something to you, right?”

_ Pretty sure I have a damn good idea how psycho he truly was. _

_ “ _ I want to know what, Dean.”

_ Pretty sure I know better than you. _

_ “ _ I’m not dad.”

_ Yet for some dumb-ass reason, I still consider all the shit he told me, and I still believe him. _

“Geeze, I thank God every single damn  _ day  _ that I’m not dad.”

_ And none of that was Sam’s fault, and I gotta stop acting like it was. _

“And I want...if you don’t mind...may I tell you what happened to me? It’s. um. Heavy. And Cas told me you’ve made some assumptions, based on what you smell...is it wrong that I’d at least like to set the record straight? I’m …” Sam took a deep breath. “I’m not a demon, Dean.”

_ Cas should have kept his fucking mouth shut. _

_ Aw, shut up, me. That’s not fair. Cas is stuck in the middle. He and Sam are clearly close friends, and they hunt together, and have seen some shit together. Then I crashed into the scene and Cas found out who I am and...seriously, what was Cas  _ supposed  _ to do? Cas knows more about what Sam’s been through than I do, and was absolutely right to not spill Sam’s shit without permission.  _

_ If only for Cas’ sake, I need to chill the fuck out and give Sam a chance. _

_ But it shouldn’t be only for Cas’ sake. _

Closing his eyes, taking a slow breath in, leaking it out over a count of five, Dean crossed to the couch, leapt onto it, and stared at the chair where Cas had sat the last time Dean manned up and let someone actually talk to him about his fucking problems..

_ That was less than two days ago. Fuck, it feels like a Goddamn life time. _

Hesitantly, eyes never leaving Dean, Sam crossed to the chair and took a seat. He smelled demonic, but also anxious and tentative and profoundly uncomfortable.

_ Okay, Sammy. Talk. I’m listening. _

“So...uh...I’m gonna treat this like ripping off a bandaid. Get the worst out of the way. ‘Cause there are two things in particular, and they’re bad. Really bad.”

_...I can’t really condemn you for that...I’ve done some bad stuff too... _

“And if you can’t accept those two things, and move past them...well, there’s no excuse I can make that’ll make those things okay. Either you’ll be cool with it...cool with me...okay, no, not _cool_ , there’s nothing cool about _any_ of this, but…” He broke off with a frustrated noise. “I have reasons I’ve done the things I’ve done. Not excuses. Explanations. But the explanations don’t matter if you can’t get past the thing itself.”

_ Dude, you’re not beating  _ around  _ the bush, the bush is dead, splintered, not a leaf left in sight. Pulped. Just fricken spill it. _

“I’m in a better place now, and if you  _ do  _ want to be a part of my life, like I want you to be in mine...then you need to know.  _ Why  _ matters less than that they happened at all.”

_...not inspiring confidence… _

“The first is…” Sam took another deep breath and the anxiety tinging his smell spiked. “I drink demon blood. Meg’s, specifically. She  _ is  _ a demon. And I’m...kinda like a vampire, I guess? Call it an addiction, call it medication, I don’t know, I need it.”

_ Well, that’s some batshit garbage. _

“I’ve tried to detox a couple times and it was awful.”

_ But it’s better than when I thought he was a demon. He’s just suckin’ down demon juice, with the help of a demon he trusts for some fricken reason. How fantastic. _

“It’s been a couple years now, since I first found out.”

_ Give the kid a break. It’s not worse than me stalking around in all my doggy glory. I’ve bit a few people. I’ve fucked enough bitches in heat that I’ve probably got some poor abandoned skinwalker puppies out there with no fucking idea what they are. _

_ I’m garbage. _

_ So, if he’s garbage too… _

_...well, he’s still my brother. _

“Bobby and Rufus did some tests - Meg did some, too - and they think my biology has been permanently changed, that if I tried to quit, I’d die.”

_ Bobby knows, huh? And whoever the fuck Rufus is? _

_ That means dad probably knows. _

_ Bet that conversation was a whole new world of fun. _

“It sucks, especially trusting Meg, but...well. I don’t want to die. And I won’t apologize for that. I’m doing what I gotta do. I suspect you can relate.”

Sam looked to him, and Dean reluctantly nodded.

_ I don’t even have that excuse, I’m just selfish and lazy. _

“Okay, awesome, that’s a good start. It seemed unfair to me that from the instant I saw you...at least, saw you as a human...I knew what you were, but you didn’t know about me...then again, you didn’t tell me who you were when we met...and you bit me...and you could smell what I was, right? ...I guess we’ve both been jackasses to each other. Honestly, I’ve wondered for ages what you would think if you knew about me so I guess it’s weirdly reassuring that we’re both monsters and you get it.”

... _ aw, Sammy  _ does  _ know the score...and he’s right, it is weirdly reassuring… _

_ He is  _ definitely  _ still my brother. _

“And that doesn’t mean I’m glad you’re a monster, and I sure wish I had never gotten the first drop of demon blood, but that wasn’t my fault - I was only a baby, and there was a demon deal involved, and shit, I’m babbling, and not telling you the second thing, because it’s worse, Dean, it’s so much worse, and I know you, and I know how you felt about…”

Dean blinked, and stared. The scent rolling from Sam was pure terror, terror of  _ Dean  _ and his reaction to whatever Sam wasn’t telling him, so strong it over-powered even the horrible stench of rot and death.

“It’s dad.”

_ Uh oh. _

“He’s dead.”

_ Shit. Of course he is. I should have realized - if dad was alive, he’d never have let any of this happen to Sam, never have let him consort with demons or djinns or skinwalkers or any kind of monster. Sammy was the golden boy. Sammy was precious. Sammy had to be safe. If dad had been there to protect him - if  _ I  _ had been there to protect him, this never would have hap-- _

“I killed him.”

_ Oh. _

_ Fuck. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd apologize for this utterly pointless, cruel cliff hanger, but let's be real...I'm not even a little sorry.
> 
> I'll try to get the next chapter up tomorrow. :D
> 
> ETA on 12/4 - hey guys we're having a crazy few days, really busy weekend, and my little one was teething so slept badly, and then got allergied (...my fault and I feel wretched about it...) so hes been sick, and Tumblr-pocalypse is making my anxious, and just...writing time has been scarce. It won't be today and I'd be at little surprised if its tomorrow. I'm sorry.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm so sorry it took me so long to get this next chapter out. I went into 12/1 intending to keep up NaNo pace but things fell apart quickly. I wrote a long Tumblr post about it [here](http://unforth-ninawaters.tumblr.com/post/180893795393/so-i-wrote-a-little-on-pillowfort-and-mentioned-it), and then as if that all wasn't enough, my older boy woke up yesterday morning with a fever and was pretty much glued to my lap for eight hours straight. But here we are, and I hope you enjoy it and find it worth the wait.

“Okay. Awesome. You haven’t left, and you haven’t attacked me. Gonna call that a win.” Sam huffed an uncomfortable laugh, scent still stinking.

_ I  _ should  _ leave. _

_ You fucking  _ killed  _ dad, you fricken murderer - and you’re here bragging that I haven’t torn you apart, calling that a  _ win _? _

_ I should rip your Goddamn throat out. What’s the point of being a monster if I can’t avenge dad, like dad tried to avenge mom? We’re family. That’s what family does for one another. _

_ But. _

_ Sam is my family, too. _

_ But… _

_ No, no, no. Think it through, Winchester. _

_ Sam drinks demon blood, and he thinks he’s a monster, like I turn into a dog, and think I’m a monster. Just cause he calls himself that - just because dad believed that all non-humans were irredeemable garbage - doesn’t mean he is. Cas doesn’t think I’m a monster, and I bet he doesn’t think Sam is either, and I’ve got the feeling Cas sees this more clearly than we do. Cause Cas might be a monster, in that he isn’t human...but Cas is no monster by any definition worth a fuck. And Bobby answers when Cas calls. If anyone knows from monsters, it’s Bobby, and he sure wouldn’t be schmoozing with one, nor agreeing to take a monster puppy from one... _

Sam was talking, gesturing frantically, but Dean hadn’t caught a word he said, to consumed by his spinning thoughts.

_ But dad - dad  _ knew  _ I was a monster, no questions asked, no more information needed than that I was a skinwalker He told me he’d end my ass. If Sammy was dealing with this demon blood shit...if dad found out... _

_...he  _ must  _ have known about Sam, Sam said this bullshit started when he was a fricken  _ baby _ … _

_...maybe that’s why mom died in Sam’s nursery... _

_...dad musta known Sam was a monster. _

_ And what would dad have done? _

_ What would dad have done to me, if I hadn’t run when he told me to? _

_ Sam never did like following dad’s orders. _

Dean had so many questions, so many uncertainties. To learn the answers, he’d have to listen to Sam’s anxious ramblings and hope Sam addressed his concerns, or he’d have to…

_...fuck it. _

...he’d have to  _ ask _ , like a fricken adult  _ human _ .

Dean closed his eyes.

Sam’s mouth snapped shut, reading fuck-knew-what into Dean’s change of expression. With an inner twisting and the pop of bones morphing and contorting, Dean shifted. Sam’s scent faded to nothing; when Dean opened his eyes, he could see Sam clearly - felt like he saw Sam clearly for the first time in his life. Sam’s face was pale and streaked with tears, framed by curled locks of brown hair. Anxiety pinched his features, and his hands shook as he held them before him, frozen mid-sentence.

“Did he try to kill you?” Dean rasped. 

Shit, he needed a drink, to wet his throat, to knock him the fuck out of the bizarre fever dream his life had become. Alcohol. He’d  _ really  _ missed getting smashed as a dog. Even the most generous owners never wasted booze on a dog, and if Cas kept any in the house, Dean had never seen it.

_ Like getting drunk would solve  _ anything _. I need water. Remember how dad got when he was drunk? Remember how he fricken shared his booze with his teenaged son? Remember how I thought that was normal? _

_ I don’t need a drink. _

_ I don’t need to be dad. _

“Dean…” Sam whispered, wide eyes rimmed red, cheeks made gaunt by his agape mouth.

“Dad tried to kill you, didn’t he?” repeated Dean.

_ I  _ could  _ be wrong… _

Sam’s face fell. His hands fell. Fresh tears tumbled down his cheeks. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and nodded.

_...but I’m not. Of course I’m not. What the fuck else would dad would have done? _

_ What did I do, before I knew better? _

_ Attack. _

“Fuck,” Dean muttered. “I’m sorry, Sammy. I--” Sam interrupted him with a gasp, stuffing a fist in his mouth in a failed effort to repress a sob. “Sam?” Sam shook his head, teeth digging into his flesh. Alarmed, Dean rose and failed to stride across the short distance separating them; his leg gave out, and he stumbled before Sam, knees grinding against the floor. Close enough to what he intended, if more painful. He threw an arm around Sam’s shoulders, and Sam...his  _ brother _ ...after all these fricken  _ years _ ...Sam crumpled against him, shoulders quaking, crying into Dean’s bare shoulder.

Right. He was fucking naked. Shame flushed his cheeks, but he repressed it.

_ When we were kids...how many times did we shower together? How many times did we share a bed? How many times did we huddle in the backseat of the Impala, tangled together to keep from freezing while dad drove or slept behind the wheel or left us in a parking lot while he ganked some fucker? _

Lifting his arm, awkward and heavy - Dean shouldn’t try to move immediately after shifting - Dean wrapped it around Sam’s back, patting him.

“I shoulda been there,” Dean murmured. “You shoulda never had to face him alone - I shoulda known…”

“What? How?” Sadness garbled Sam’s words, demolished his meaning.

“...with what he said after I got bit, it shoulda been so fricken  _ obvious _ …”

“Did you know...about me?” Sam asked, drawing away to blink at Dean through wet lashes.

“Wha?” Dean blinked. “No, ‘course not.”

“Then why…?” Trailing off, Sam shook his head. Dean looked a question at him. “Forget it. Never mind. It’s been so long, I forgot - you always think  _ everything  _ is your fault, ‘specially when it comes to me getting hurt, or dad taking his issues out on us.”

“Fuck, Sam, we’ve been together for two fricken minutes and you’re pickin’ a fight already?” Dean settled back on his ass, shoulders slumping. “That’s gotta be some kind of new record. You…”

_ What am I doing? _

“Ya know, five years ago, I’d have already started shouting,” said Sam acidly. 

_ I’m lashing out. _

“I’m glad  _ I _ , at least, have matured enough to recognize what’s going on here.”

_ Like dad used to do. _

“I’m not picking a fight, Dean - I’m telling you the truth about shit that I’ve had  _ years  _ to think about.”

_ As if what Sam said wasn’t absolutely right. _

“Also?”

_ I  _ do  _ always blame myself. _

“You’re only reacting like I’m picking a fight because getting pissed at me over delusional bullshit is way less scary than considering for one damn second that I might be right.”

_ hat did I say when I talked with Cas? Right - why bother becoming human if I’m just gonna act like a dickhead? _

“You  _ are  _ right,” said Dean.

“And I guess I’m guilty, too, because I was stupid enough to think you might have changed over the last umpteen years, and--”

“And you still don’t listen to anything once you’re convinced you know the score,” Dean interrupted mildly.

Sam blinked at him.

“I said, you’re right,” Dean repeated, relishing Sam’s stunned look. “I’ve spent years blaming myself for getting bit, for letting you and dad down, for all kinds of shit that wasn’t my fault. ‘Cause dad told me it was my fault, and I believed him. But the last few weeks...and especially the last couple days...I’ve started to wonder.”

Sam blinked at him again, back-handed tears from his eyes, and gave Dean a sly smile. “Since you met Cas?”

Inadvertently, Dean’s gaze flicked toward the hallway, toward the stairs, toward the second floor where Cas was presumably asleep in his bedroom. Sam chuckled, Dean realized what he’d done, colored, and looked away.

“I mean...maybe a little…” he muttered.

“Hey, no shame,” Sam added hastily. “Cas has that effect on people.”

Dean’s head jerked up. “Wait - you...and  _ Cas _ ? But I thought you and Jo--”

“Not like that,” Sam corrected, even  _ more  _ hastily, laughing. “Cas is my BFF, and Jo is my wife - sorry, my semi-monogamous life partner, she hates the word ‘wife’ - and meeting them is the best thing that ever happened to me. But if you’re interested in Cas, in, ya know, the semi-monogamous life partner kind of way, he’s all yours.” Dean could only shake his head. “And I’m happy for you. And for him. Cas has been lonely a long time...I’ve never seen him happier than he’s been since you came here.” The longer Sam spoke, the more full Dean’s chest felt, with more emotions than he could cope with.  _ Deflect...deflect...deflect... _ “What? What are you looking at me like that?”

“Did you seriously call Cas your BFF?” The smile Dean forced felt more natural as Sam pulled out a  _ classic  _ bitch face. 

Just like old times.

“Hey, fuck you. I’m secure enough in my masculinity to  _ own  _ that my BFF is a dude, and to call him that. Deal with it.”

“You are such a little bitch.” Dean’s grin was so wide it  _ hurt _ , and it felt  _ awesome _ . Had he really thought that Sam was gone, subsumed by a demon?

Calling  _ anyone  _ his BFF was the most  _ Sam  _ thing Dean had  _ ever  _ heard.

“And you’re still a jerk,” Sam laughed, giving Dean a playful punch in the shoulder…

...that sent him sprawling. Pain jolted down his spine, pinched at his chest, twisted his knee. He tried to sit up again, but fucking  _ ow _ , and, well, he’d always wanted to sprawl naked on the cold floor with his brother staring down at him. Definition of good times, right there.

“Shit! Sorry!” Sam exclaimed, sliding from his chair to help Dean up. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Now who’s a jerk,” grunted Dean, accepting the aid. 

“It’s me,” confessed Sam.

“And don’t you forget it.”

Despite the pain, Dean felt good. He felt  _ fantastic _ . The voices in his head had  _ finally  _ shut the fuck up, and dad was dead, in every sense of the word, and Sam was with him. Every gesture, every new instance of brotherly ribbing, quelled Dean’s concerns. This  _ was  _ Sam. With Sam’s help, Dean settled back onto the couch, even accepting the indignity of Sam grabbing the decorative blanket from the back of the chair and draping it over him. Sam clucked and patted concern like the motherliest of mother hens, and only when Dean gave him the stink eye for suggesting Dean might like a hot pad and some honeyed tea did Sam drop, chuckling, to sit on the other end of the couch.

_ But despite the fun and the laughter and the bonding...there’s still shit we gotta say to each other. Better to get it out of the way. _

“What happened?” Dean asked...

...with a distinct echo.

Sam had asked the same, at the same time. Confused, Dean shot him a questioning looked. “With you and dad,” Sam clarified. “What happened?”

_ Nuh uh. You first. No more riding the feels train  from the Dean end of this equation. I got questions and… _

_...and I seriously just thought the words “feels train”... _

_...oh, stuff it and tell him. _

“Like I said.” Dean stared discomfort at the pocked, stained surface of the coffee table. “Not much to it.” At least his nose no longer picked up the tang of his own blood tainting the wood. “We were on a hunt. I got bit. Dad told me to get out or get dead. So I got out. Been bumming around as a dog ever since, doing some hunting here and there - dad is... _ was _ …” Shit, that was a wrench. Dean drew in a rough breath and pressed on. “...dad was wrong about all that ‘silver is the only way to kill this one’ and ‘pig’s blood’s the only way to kill that one’ crap. Skinwalker bite? Does for all kinds of sick sons of bitches. And whenever I got tired of a place, I moved on. Been all over the country. Until I got here, and Cas took me in. Three months, now, I’ve been here. Longest I’ve stayed anywhere in a long time. And man, Pontiac is  _ weird _ . Like seriously. What the fuck?”

“Devil’s Gate,” said Sam gravely, as if that was supposed to mean something to Dean. “Think Buffy Hellmouth. Jo calls Pontiac ‘Sunnydale,’ like, on the regular.”

“Buffy, Sam? The fuck does that mean?” Dean lied. Like he’d admit to watching fricken Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Sam stared him down. “Fine. Whatever. Charisma Carpenter is hot. Sue me.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“Cordelia?” Dean said incredulously to Sam’s skeptical look. “Anyway. Fine. I get the reference. So you’re here ‘cause of this gate thing?”

“Basically, yes.”

“And complicatedly?”

“Oh boy.” Sam released a breath with a whoosh. “Okay. So you asked what happened to me. It’s a fucking mess, dude, and we still haven’t pieced it all together. But basically...either mom or dad made a demon deal before we were born.”

“No way,” Dean scoffed. “They were normal before mom died. Dad didn’t know jackshit about the supernatural. You musta heard that story as many times as I did.”

“Not dad,” said Sam, shaking his head. “Unless he was tricked. Mom. We think. She was a hunter. So were our namesakes.”

“Grandma Deanna’s no namesake of mine…” grumbled Dean.

“Mom, or dad, made a demon deal, and when I was a baby, the demon came to collect, and gave me some demon blood. That’s who dad was hunting - Azazel was his name, he’s dead now - and dad knew  _ way  _ more than he ever told us. Shit hit the fan a couple years ago. I’d gone to college at Stanford, and my girlfriend got killed, and dad tracked me down, but something was...off? I mean, he was still dad, but  _ even more _ paranoid? At the time it was fuckin’ bizarre and frustrating, but in retrospect, it’s ‘cause he knew about the blood and he thought I was a demon or something. Anyway...sorry, it’s a lot, and I’m trying to cut it to bare essentials…”

“S’ok, Sam. I ain’t going anywhere.”

Judging by the grateful, touched expression that Sam fricken  _ melted  _ into, he read something  _ way  _ more profound into Dean’s words than Dean had meant.

And Dean found...he didn’t want to correct that impression.

_ I’m listening. I’m talking. _

_ I’m staying. _

_ This is my home now. _

_ And Sam is my brother, then, now, and always. _

Misty-eyed, Sam faltered, smiled, and continued, “There was a lot of shit going on, a lot of hunters involved. I met Jo and her mom Ellen - they run a bar that’s a hunter hang out, and they were helping figure out what the hell was going on. Dad insisted we didn’t need any help, but, well, he was wrong. We kept meeting people who had been influenced by Azazel, and I developed these super powers - telekinesis, that kinda thing - and dad acted weirder and weirder...and that’s when we met Cas. ‘Djinn’s been killing folks,’ dad said. ‘Gotta do for him.’ I nearly killed Cas…” A growl rumbled inadvertently in Dean’s throat. “...I nearly got killed,” Sam added in a rush. “He zapped me with his wish magic shit and...yeah. What we both found in my head answered some questions and raised a whole shitton of new ones.

“After that, we got to talking - I was suspicious at first, but you know how Cas is…” Sam, for some dumbass reason, waited until Dean nodded acknowledgement before continuing. “...turns out Cas was a hunter, along with his brother Gabriel...have you met Gabe?” 

Dean shook his head. 

“Hashtag jealous,” Sam sighed.

“You did...you did  _ not  _ fucking say that…”

“I can’t wait ‘til you meet Gabe. You’re going to  _ loathe  _ him.” Sam grinned. Dean scowled at him. “Anyway. We talked shit over. Like the folks at the Roadhouse - that’s Ellen’s bad - they were also clued in to this demon shit. There were a  _ lot  _ of signs, there to be seen by anyone who knew what to look for. Cas, Gabe and I decided to team up. More hands, light work, something like that. Harder for Azazel to make us  _ all  _ dead. I was pretty excited about it.” His face fell. “Dad was  _ not _ excited. He was  _ pissed _ . He wanted Cas and Gabe dead, said that my sparing them was proof of what he’d feared all along. He pulled the Colt on me - it’s this enchanted gun, another story - and held it to my head.” 

Sam swallowed. “Told me I was a monster - a demon - and that I always had been. Told me he’d always known he’d have to kill me one day, and that he guessed that day had come. Man, that felt like shit...but...I  _ knew  _ myself, and I knew what Cas and I had worked out. So...I stopped him.” Dean quirked an eyebrow. “Violently. And...like...demonically. The demon blood...gives me those super powers I mentioned?...they’re pretty badass...but you gotta understand, I never woulda tried to hurt dad if he wasn’t...like...he was gonna  _ kill  _ me,  _ really  _ kill  _ me _ , it was fuckin’ insane, and I tried to tell him so, but he wouldn’t listen - he  _ never  _ listened, and--”

“Sam...”

“--and I tried to incapacitate him, but man he was  _ tough  _ and I’m making this sound even worse aren’t I, but Dean, you didn’t see him, it was like he’d lost his mind and--”

“Sam.”

“--believe me, I woulda done  _ anything  _ to not have to kill him but there was nothing, absolutely nothing, I could do, he was relentless, and there was so much blood and he wouldn’t stop coming and he wouldn’t listen to me and--”

“ _ Sam _ !”

Panting like he’d run for miles, Sam trailed off. His eyes were unfocused, looking into the distance, looking into the past, his hands trembling. “...Dean?” he asked. He sounded like a damn lost child.

_ We’re both lost children. _

“You don’t need to justify your actions to me, Sammy,” said Dean gruffly, fighting back tears. “I know.”

“...you didn’t see him…”

“I saw him when I got bit. Just. Trust me. Believe me. I’m not pissed at you. I’m not even pissed at  _ him _ , though I probably should be. I’m just…fuck, I don’t know  _ what  _ I am. Sad that I wasn’t there to help, and that you got hurt so bad. Glad you’re here and we’re talking. Kinda...kinda relieved. That he’s gone. That he won’t be coming for me. Or you.”

“Wow.”

_ Maybe I shouldn’t have admitted that - being cool with dad being killed is one thing, but admitting I’m  _ relieved  _ he’s dead, that’s a whole other can of-- _

“You really do get it.”

Doe-eyed, soft, Sam smiled.

Dean smiled sadly back.

_ Fuck our lives _ .

“There’s...not much more, I guess? I mean, there’s loads more, but it’s mostly not relevant at this exact moment? But I hope we’ll get to talk about it sometime, it’s not like I’m deliberately hiding things, I just…” Sam shrugged sheepishly as Dean waved a hand to tell him to get on with it. “I killed dad. Using my powers drained me so bad I almost died. Cas knew the score, though, and he brought in his friend Meg, and she saved me, and then all of us and Gabe and the Roadhouse folks and Bobby and a mess of other hunters went down to Wyoming to stop Azazel from opening a Devil’s Gate and unleashing hell on earth. It was the weirdest damn coalition of monsters and hunters. Everyone kinda hated everyone else. The whole thing was a clusterfuck, really proved who our friends were and who we couldn’t trust, and those of us who came out alive on the other side...are what we are. I guess. An alliance. Hunters. And there’s so much I’m leaving out of this, how we found out about Azazel and what he’d done to me and the others, about Cas and dad, about the hunters out there more like dad, about Bobby and Rufus and Jody, about my getting to know Jo and finding out what our dad did to her dad - used him as bait then killed him,” Sam added in reply to Dean’s curious look.

“God, dad was such a big bag of dicks.”

“He really was.”

Their concurrence was...comfortable, and conclusive. They looked at each other, sharing a companionable silence. The room brightened as morning rose around them. The ceiling overhead creaked as Jo or Cas moved around. The pipes hissed with the flow of water. The puppies scratched and made soft noises in their sleep. The world spun around them, spun with them, and Dean...Dean had his brother back.

Dean swallowed against a surge of emotion, but the air scratched at his dry throat and he coughed.

“You okay?” Sam asked. Dean shot a thumbs up, despite the tears rimming in his eyes as the fit extended. He tried to swallow again, but his mouth was like a fricken desert; he covered his mouth, closed his eyes, tried to will his body to  _ behave _ , but what he really needed was a damn drink, and the kitchen seemed a million miles away.

Something pressed into his other hand - hard, cool, damp - right, a glass - and he gratefully took a sip. Refreshing water coated his tongue, trickled down his throat, and as his hacks subsided, he drank eagerly, deeply. He drained it to the last drop, and only then opened his eyes.

Sam hovered, troubled. “If you were thirsty, you should have said something.”

“Right,” Dean grunted. “Of course, your chick flick confessions were full of opportune moments for me to be all, ‘hold that thought, I gotta grab some water.’”

“Geeze, I always knew you were allergic to emotions, but you’ve found a whole new level of bullshit toxic masculinity delusion if you think my  _ admitting to murder _ is a ‘chick flick’ moment.” Rolling his eyes, Sam sprawled back onto the couch.

“Hey, I’m not the asshole here.” Dean struggled to keep a playful, joking note in his voice, and hoped like hell Sam was on the same page as him. “You woke me up and demanded we talk without even letting me out to take a whizz first.”

“You could have  _ asked _ .”

“Dogs don’t have  _ vocal chords _ , Sammy! ‘You could have asked.’ Some vet tech you are.”

“Hey, if you wanna go outside and take a leak now, be my guest!”

“In this cold? Dressed… _ undressed _ ...like this? Sure. After you.”

There was a beat of silence, then - “I can’t believe you’re really here, Dean.”

Another beat, then - “Same. Bitch.”

“Would you quit calling me that? I’m 23, dude!”

“Haven’t you heard, Sammy? Nobody likes you when you’re 23.”

“Really, Dean? A Blink 182 reference? You’re dating yourself.”

“...well...you  _ caught  _ the reference... _ you’re _ dating yourself.”

“I’m not. I’m dating Jo.”

Spluttering for a comeback, Dean surrendered with a laugh that swelled his chest and relieved the pressure growing within him. Sam was there. Just...sitting there. Holy fuck. The laughter grew until tears streamed down his face, until his ribs creaked and his stitched up back pulled and burned.

Dean had his  _ brother  _ back. 

_ This can’t be real. _

Dean felt...ecstatic, elated, frightened, pressured, judged, accepted, eager, anticipatory. He felt watched, cared for, and utterly unworthy. He felt numb, detached - felt so much, so intensely his skin tingled.

... _ Cas... _

He felt way,  _ way  _ too fucking much.

... _ Cas! _

He felt  _ panic _ .

“I gotta…” Another surge of hysterical laughter burbled from him. “I gotta...go. Now.” He surged to his feet; his knee went out but he got a hand on the couch arm rest and caught himself.

“Dean!” Sam half-rose, a hand outstretched to catch him.

Fuck that.

“Bathroom,” Dean managed, and tottered across the living room. 

The tightness was back in his chest, magnified tenfold, a hundredfold, exacerbated by the creak of his aching ribs. From the corner of his eye, he saw Sam stand and reach to intercept him, but Dean dodged, stumbled toward the stairs, grabbed the bannister so hard his hand ache. The first step groaned under his weight, and Jack leapt from beneath the stairs, sniffing in alarm, dazzling blue eyes liquid with concern.

“I’m okay,” Dean lied. Jack snorted -  _ can’t even pull one over on a fricken kid - great job, me  _ \- and Dean stopped, leaned down, and ruffled Jack’s ears. “I’m not okay. But I will be. Serious. Go back to bed.” Jack’s gaze held him, then he stepped back, gave Dean an affectionate lick on the hand, and obeyed. That concerned look haunted Dean as he trudged up the stairs, but he was running on empty, nothing left to give, no reassurances or support to offer.

“Dean?” Cas’ voice was a balm to his spirits; Dean looked up to see him lingering in his bedroom doorway, pajamas rumpled, bedhead sinful. “Are you alr--?” Dean slumped into him - or intended to only slump, but he was so tired, and so heavy - literally and figuratively. Cas grunted, stumbled back a step, caught him, fucking saved him.  _ Again _ . “Can you tell me what you need?”

_ No. You’ve always been good at reading my mind - so please, read my mind... _

“Oh.”

_...ground me… _

Dean half-opened an eye to see Sam halfway up the stairs behind him. His eyes were focused just above Dean’s head, on Cas’ face, the two sharing wordless communication.

_...I know you understand, Cas… _

“I see.”

_...hold me… _

“Dean…”

_...never let me go... _

“Please…” Dean breathed, tears pooling in his eyes again. 

Fuck, he was sick of crying. 

He nudged Cas toward the bed, and Cas let himself be guided, closing the door behind them. Their legs bumped the mattress and they tumbled down atop the blankets. A couple schooches brought them fully on the bed, and Dean let his actions do the talking - holding Cas, pulling him closer, nuzzling his chest, burying his face against Cas’ breast. Cas’ response was everything Dean hoped for - longed for -  _ wished  _ for -  _ needed _ . Cas held him, tangling their legs together, petting his hair and down his back, making soft, soothing noises. Glowing. Shaking overcame Dean, his shoulders bunching, and a sob ripped out of him.

“It’s okay, Dean.”

Another sob came, another, another.

“You’re alright.”

_ I shouldn’t be crying. Boys don’t cry. Men don’t cry. _

“I’m glad you came to find me.”

But Dean couldn’t stop.

“You’re safe.”

_ I can’t help it. _

“You’re known.”

_ I couldn’t have helped - couldn’t have prevented  _ any  _ of it. _

“You’re cared for.”

_ It’s not my fault I got bit. It’s not my fault Sam got addicted. It’s not my fault mom died. It’s not my fault dad was a dick. _

“You’re valued.”

_ I’ve done my best my whole fucking life, and dad never once said he was sorry, never once said I’d done good, never once said he was proud of me, never once said he loved me. And that’s his shit, not mine. _

“You’re home _. _ ”

_ I’ve done my best, and while it wasn’t always enough...it should have been enough. It  _ was  _ enough. I did good. I did frackin’ awesome. _

“You’re…”

_ I deserve this. _

“...you’re loved.”

Dean went stiff and numb, then liquid hot and  _ soft _ , his desperate sobs giving way to weeping. 

_ I...deserve this? _

“I love you, Dean.”

_ I do.  _

“Cas…” The name came out garbled, and Dean tried again, again, whispering  _ Cas  _ over and over until it ceased to mean anything, until it meant  _ everything _ .

_ I  _ deserve  _ this. _

“Only you, Cas.”

_ And he deserves this, too. _

Cas curled against him, moisture soaking Dean’s hair.

_ Moisture… _

Cas was crying, too.

_ We’re allowed to have this together. _

“...thank you…”

_ I should be saying that to you. _

“For what?”

_ You idiot.  _

“For choosing me.”

_ You perfect, gorgeous, sweet idiot. _

“...my Dean…”

My  _ idiot. _

“My Cas...my Castiel…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I mentioned before, most of the remaining chapters are longer, and the holidays are always ridiculously busy around here, so expect updates to continue slow, but I'll do my best to keep posting. I really want this story done.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooof.
> 
> Guys, I'm so, so sorry about December. It was just a total cluster. The kids were sick and Tumblr was burning and I and my co-mod were gearing up to run the new round of MCU Kink Bingo and I and my other co-mod were trying to salvage Check Please Kink Bingo and everything had to be backed up and added to new platforms and just.
> 
> Yeah.
> 
> And that's aside from my cold and lack of sleep and the holidays and all the things.
> 
> BUT. New year. New writing goals. Fresh start.
> 
> I'll be focusing on this story until it's done. After this scene we've got...either three or four chapters left, I think. Five at the outside. I've already started the next one. So, hop on board for the finale...

“Um.”

Scowling, Dean cracked one eye open enough to squint toward the bedroom door. It was open a crack, and Jack stood framed in the opening, brow knit, lips compressed. The expression aged Jack a decade and jolted Dean from his pleasant, warm doze in Cas’ arms. Every ache and pain that had plagued him since the skinwalkers attacked Cas reminded Dean to take it slow, and Cas grumbled as Dean dragged the blanket along with him to hide his nudity.

Little by little, day by day, Dean remembered how to be human.

“You okay, kid?” And someday, maybe, he’d no longer sound like he’d been gargling rocks.

Today was not that day.

Tomorrow wasn’t looking good either.

“Can we talk?” asked Jack.

_ Can we not? _

Jack looked sad and vulnerable and old beyond his years. The resemblance to Sammy, frightened and small when he had a nightmare while dad was out on hunt was evocative, taunting Dean with all the ways he’d failed his brother. 

_ All the ways I’ll fail Jack, if I’m given have a chance. _

_ No. When Sam was hurt, I was a kid. We were  _ both  _ kids. Comforting him - helping him - should never have been my responsibility. And just because dad fucking sucked big donkey dong at being our dad doesn’t mean I’ll do the same. _

_ Not that I’m a dad. _

_ Not that Jack’s my son. _

_ That’s not...I mean… _

_ Shut up, me. _

Jack deserved some of Dean’s time - he deserved that Dean make an effort to use his words - as surely as Sam had - as surely as Sam still did.

“Come on,” Dean said, nodding them down the hall. He glanced back to see Cas offering him an encouraging smile; Dean flushed, grimaced, and led the way out of the room. 

Privacy was hard to come by - Cas’ house small and crowded with Sam and Jo and the puppies - and Dean was mentally scrolling through where they might find seclusion when he realized the second bedroom was empty, bed neatly made, brightly lit by noontime sunlight. The sound of laughter, Sam’s and a mystery man’s, echoed from downstairs. Alarm froze Dean. He couldn’t see who was there, couldn’t smell them, couldn’t guess their intent. They could be anyone, planning anything - a danger to himself, to Cas, to Sam, to Jack and the puppies.

Fuck his human senses, and their useless limitations. 

The urge to change to dog form and confront the unknown person surged, only to fade when Jack bumped into his back, mumbled an apology, and shuffled his feet.

Fuck his janked up instincts, telling him that someone Sam would laugh so heartily with might, somehow, be a threat.

The stranger laughed again. A puppy yipped. 

_ If we go down there, I’ll have to meet whoever the hell that is. _

_ Naked. _

_ In a blanket. _

_ With Jack freaking out behind me. _

_ I’ll have to, like, say hello and shit. _

_ Yeaaaaah...no, fuck that. _

“In here.” Dean held the bedroom door open, closed it behind Jack as he stepped within and stopped, awkward and uncomfortable, standing on the area rug beside the bed.

And said nothing.

Even through the closed door, conversation hummed through the house, warm and friendly and achingly distant and disconnected from anything Dean could possibly engage in.

_ Well, boy? Speak! _

Jack picked at the rug with a bare toe, biting his lip. He was dressed, Dean realized with a start, wearing too-short jeans with the cuffs frayed out and a plain t-shirt. There must be some trick to shapeshifting without destroying his outfit, a trick Dean had never learned because he’d been on his own. He’d avoided other skinwalkers...

_ For fuck’s sake, Winchester.  _

...or killed them...

_ The boy is terrified.  _

...who was Dean to be helping anyone, support anyone?

_ Stop being a tool - grow the fuck up.  _

Who was he? He was Dean fucking Winchester.

_ I’m an adult and it’s time to start acting like one. I’m not a frightened teenager any longer. I don’t have to worry about dad - dad’s fricken  _ dead _ , I sure as fuck didn’t see that one coming, and yeah,it’s awful, cause...dad...but it’s also...hell, it’s like the weight of the world coming off my goddamn shoulders _ .  _ He won’t Hunt me. He won’t kill me on sight. _

_ I don’t have to run any longer. _

_ I’ve got a brother. _

_ I’ve got a home. _

_ I’ve got a...Cas. _

_ Jack has nothing. Jack has no one - no one but me, and yeah, that’s fucked, because this sweet kid shouldn’t rely on me - no one should rely on me - but he’s got no choice, and I’m not gonna let him down. _

A single stride brought Dean to the bed. He sat on the edge and patted for Jack to join him. As he obeyed, Jack looked grateful for even that minimal direction. Poor, dumb, lost kid. The bed squeaked and they sat awkwardly, pivoting to face each other.

_ Should I put an arm around his shoulder? Give him a hug?  Do...something else? Anything else? _

_ Bueller? _

They’d spent hours and hours sleeping side by side with nothing but fur separating them, but now that Dean was human and naked beneath his draped blanket, physical contact seemed weird. It was  _ different  _ when they were dogs, though Dean couldn’t have said how. Dean lifted a hand, dropped it, and sank back on his ass, shoulders hunched. God, Dean was fricken useless in a situation like this. 

_ Fricken useless in most situations - stop thinking like that, dammit, Cas thinks I’m worth a damn, and Jack clearly thinks I’m worth a damn, poor deluded idiot, and... _ . 

Jack looked small, and isolated, and lonely, and hurt, and  _ young _ , so young - was Dean  _ ever  _ that young?

_ Stop wallowing, Dean. What have I got to be a whiny bitch about? _

Dean was tempted to turn into a dog and offer him comfort that way, but Jack had asked to  _ talk _ .

_ Then I should talk already. Fucking hell, why is this still so hard? _

“Uh. What’s up?” Dean asked.

Jack bit his lip.

“Jack?”

“There’s a...a person…here...I mean, not  _ here  _ here...” Jack waved at the room. “...but...but, you know, here--” The sound of unfamiliar laughter interrupted him and Jack gestured suggestively toward the door. “...he’s playing with my cousins…”

“...and?”

Jack bit his lip, looked, side-eyed Dean, made a picture of distressed uncertainty.

Dean had the feeling he was supposed to say something reassuring.

Whatever the fuck  _ that  _ might mean.

_ How the hell can I reply when I have no damn clue what the problem is? _

Silence stretched out.

The stranger’s muffled guffaws filled the room, then died to nothing.

“What’s going to happen to us?” Jack burst out.

_ What, I’m supposed to know the Goddamn future now? _

“I mean, I guess - your...that man - Cas? - and your brother and his wife - they made those phone calls. I was listening, I got the idea. I’m not stupid. There are so many of us. I didn’t think we’d be able to stay together...I mean, I hoped, that maybe we could...but that was silly, wishful thinking, that’s never been what life was about, we were always gonna be sent off on our own, and I heard the others saying no one would go alone, and that’s  _ good _ , better than I ever expected...and I know that when most humans look at us, they see dogs, even when they  _ know  _ that we’re not  _ just  _ dogs...and you were a dog too, so  _ you  _ couldn’t have explained anything, to them or to us...but what’s going on? What are you doing with my brothers and sisters and cousins? Are you sending us away? Are you sending  _ me  _ away?”

Oh.

“And, like, that’s okay if it’s what’s happening - that’s what always happens, mom and dad and Uncle Nick and Aunt Amara and Aunt Eve and Uncle Dick--”

“You have an Uncle Dick?”

“--they never, like, consulted us...they sold us...we were really expensive and no one ever bought more than one puppy - mom wouldn’t allow it - and there’s no reason I should have expected you to be different but…”

Feeling like an idiot, Dean dropped his head back until his neck cracked.

“...but I guess...I just...thought you’d be different. I hoped you were.”

“Fuck.”

“I’m sorry,” said Jack, crestfallen.

_ I’m such a tool. _

“So.” Dean huffed out a breath. “About that. You’re right. Not about the...the different thing. We’re not selling you, god that’s fucked, who sells their own kids?”  _ Not helping, Dean!  _ “You’re right that we can’t keep so many puppies.”  _ I wish we could _ . “...I...”  _ Is there a reason I can’t say that aloud?  _ “...we…”  _ Cause it’s fucking stupid. How the hell could I take care of  _ anyone _? I can’t even fucking take care of myself, I spend all my time having these dumb ass conversations in my head and getting reassured by Cas just to meet minimal standards of functionality.  _ “Cas and Sammy are both pretty damn awesome, and they know a bunch of badasses - Hunters, yeah, but, like, the good kinds of hunters.”

_...what the fuck am I talking about, ‘the good kind of hunter?’ We killed his fricken family. His parents. His uncles and aunts. _

Dean’s mouth worked but he couldn’t find more words. 

_ Yeah, we killed the family that wanted to sell him into, like, puppy slavery. That’s a good thing, right? _

The entire situation was fucked up, and the more he talked about sending the puppies away, the more his chest ached. 

_ I don’t even fucking know. I don’t know anything any longer. I’ll probably figure shit out eventually, but until then...until then I have to stop acting like a kid, and I have to start treating him like he’s worth a damn. He’s not some...pawn, some tool, some  _ dog _. He’s a ten year old kid. By that age, I was hunting with dad and taking care of Sammy. If someone had treated me the way I’m treating Jack, I’d have given them what for, and probably pistol whipped them.  _

_ I shouldn’t treat Jack like an adult. Folks treating me like an adult at that age was fucked. _

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

_ But I shouldn’t treat him like a baby, either. _

“Dean?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, and though it was hard to say, it felt good. Freeing.  _ True _ . “I’m  _ really  _ fucking sorry. I’m sorry that we didn’t loop you and the others in on the plan. I’m sorry that we treated you like dogs when we, and especially  _ I _ , should have fuckin’ known better. I’m sorry I keep cursing in front of you - you’re just a damn kid. I’m sorry...I’m sorry about your family.” Jack blinked at him, biting his lip uncertainly, eyes wide and gleaming. “But your folks were...kinda huge douche bags.”

“What’s a douche bag?”

“...fuck. Bad word choice.”

“No, really, what is it?”

“No, really, ain’t having that conversation right now. Your family were dicks. Jerks. Really bad people.”

“Believe it or not, I knew that even before my uncle tried to kill us,” said Jack dryly. At least, while being a smartass, Jack’s spirits seem to rally. “I was the runt of my litter, and my parents were...vocal...about how their views on that. Skinwalkers who don’t get a home with unsuspecting humans are useless. Or so they said.”

“Huge, disgusting dicks,” Dean emphasized. “You are  _ not  _ useless. Or useful. You’re a person - a dog - a skinwalker - hell. You’re an  _ individual _ . You’re...you. They were fucked up to treat you that way.” Jack nodded. “But I’m still sorry we had to gank ‘um.” 

“...gank means kill?”

“Yep.”

“Well, you didn’t...gank...Uncle Nick…”

“No, you did.” Despite how confident Jack had sounded, he flinched at Dean’s words. “My bro and my…” Seriously, if Dean couldn’t figure out what to refer to Cas as, he needed to stop using that phrasing. “My bro and Cas called up all their buds, and found some good people to adopt you and your cousins. I haven’t met most of ‘um, but, like...the ones I know are awesome. Sammy and Jo are taking two. Bobby...he used to watch us, when we were kids...”  _...better dad than dad ever was, God I miss him…and I’ll see him soon...and that shouldn’t be terrifying...and… _ Jack stared at him. Dean huffed out a breath. “Bobby’s taking two. I trust him, and Sam, and Cas...with my life...their friends will be awesome, too.”

“That’s...good to hear.” Jack managed a smile. “All mom and dad cared about was how prominent our buyers were…” His expression went small and fearful. “...you know…’cause…”

“‘Cause you were supposed to turn ‘um?” Dean said. Jack nodded. “I’ve heard the spiel.” Dean rolled his eyes. “You know that’s bullshit, right?” Jack’s relief was palpable. “You don’t owe the skinwalker alpha anything, and you don’t have to bite anyone. Unless you want to. But...don’t want to. Biting people is fucked. I’m a bite victim - wasn’t born a skinwalker - and. Yeah. Don’t do that.” God, this was the most awkward conversation Dean had ever been part of, the two of them taking turns babbling anxiety at each other.  _ But...just listen to Jack. He ain’t like Sammy. He’s like  _ me. “You don’t think the puppies will try to bite anyone, do you?”

Jack shook his head. “They’re too young to have gotten the full...whatever. My family didn’t start in on our training until we could become human. That’s usually around three or four months old. For me, it’s only been about a month, though. Runt of the litter.” He sighed.

_ He’s been able to take human form for a month. _

_ Jack is  _ six months old _. _

_ The age Sammy was when mom died. _

_ God, he’s fucking young. Too young for...all of this. And we were too young too. But we all gotta take what life deals us, and sometimes life deals us shit. _

“Okay. Awesome. Not the runt part, that blows, and there’s nothing wrong with being a late bloomer so forget all that bullshit baggage they saddled you with. But it’s fricken  _ fantastic  _ that the puppies are too young for their heads to have been fucked with much, and that they aren’t gonna think we’re chew toys.”

“Well, they  _ are  _ teething…”

Dean laughed. It felt amazing. Jack...was really amazing. “So...Cas’ and Sam’s buddies are gonna come by, meet-and-greet and get to know the puppies, pick out however many they’re gonna take, and then...go. I guess. To their new homes.”

“...and…?”

“And?”

“What about me?”

“What about you?”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Dean rubbed at his temples. “Jack, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Use your words.”

_ That’s ripe, coming from me… _

“I thought…” Jack swallowed, unfocused gaze fixated on the door. “Nothing.”

“Well, it’s obviously  _ something _ . Spill it.”

“Spill what?”

“Your fam wasn’t so much on the colloquialisms, huh…”

“Dean, I’m  _ six months old _ . You should thank your lucky stars I’m potty trained.”

“...you know the phrase ‘thank your lucky stars’ but not ‘spill it?’” Dean laughed.  This kid was fuckin’ awesome. “I take it back, your parents  _ were  _ big on the colloquialisms...from 1952.”

“I thought I’d...I mean...I  _ want _ ...to stay here!” Jack burst out, turning earnest eyes on Dean. “With you!”

_ He wants to stay? _

“...oh.” 

_ That would be nice. _

“Please?” beseeched Jack.

_ But it’s impossible. _

“Why the fuck’d you want a dumb thing like that?” Dean snapped. 

_ Even if I want want him to stay. _

Grimacing, Jack looked away. 

_ Why would I want a dumb thing like that? _

“I thought you might want that, too,” said Jack miserably.

_ I want all of them to stay. _

“You thought wr…” Dean swallowed. It was a flat-out lie to tell Jack that he’d thought wrong. He was right. Dean wanted him to stay, as surely as Dean wanted to call this home, as much as Dean wanted to get to know Sammy again, as much as Dean wanted to wake up with Cas at his side every damn day for the rest of his life.

_...but... _

No one got everything they wanted, and Dean as a parent? Utterly fucked. He should tell Jack, flat out -  _ not happening, you’re not staying, I don’t want you here, you don’t belong here _ . Jack needed to hear that, flat out and without any attendant bullshit, so he could move on to a new family where he’d be cared for, educated, healed, loved as he’d obviously never been loved by his birth family.

_ At a new home, who will understand Jack? Who will know and understand what he’s been through? Who will teach him what ‘douche bag’ means? _

What Dean wanted didn’t matter. He had to do what was best for Jack.

_ Not me. My shit attempts at raising Sam just go to show - I am not dad material. That I’m even thinking it at all is beyond fucked. _

“Go downstairs,” grumbled Dean. Jack’s shoulders slumping with disappointment. “I’ll scrounge up something to wear and be down in a few, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.” 

The misery in Jack’s voice hurt.

“Good talk.”

This was for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on tumblr at [unforth](https://unforth.tumblr.com) (the unforth-ninawaters account is defunct, casualty of the Tumblr-pocalypse) or on pillowfort at [unforth](https://www.pillowfort.io/unforth). Note that I am no longer posting original content to Tumblr, so if you want first crack at my shorts and the chance to send me prompts for memes and such, pillowfort is the place to be!


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...remember to heed the dog sex tags...

“What’s the matter?”

Dean stared at the drawer he’d pulled open, the bright colors of Cas’ neatly folded boxer shorts blurring into an unpleasant paisley. He could swear he fucking  _ tasted _ Jack’s unhappiness, a sour tang that suffused the house, a scent that would have been obvious to him as a dog, but should be undetectable while he was human.

“Dean?”

There was no way what he felt was  _ Jack’s  _ unhappiness. Cas had woo-woo empathy powers but Dean was garbage at recognizing what other people felt even when they flat-out told him.

Dean was miserable.

_ Miserable, nothing. I’m a fucking idiot. What do I have to be sad about? Jack leaving? Alex and the other pups leaving? Get over it, Dean. Jack is a good kid. He deserves better than that shit-tastic family he was born into, and he deserves  _ loads  _ better than me. _

“Do you want to talk about it?”

_ Not even a little. _

_ But maybe I should… _

Glancing over his shoulder, Dean took in the vision of Cas sprawled on the bed. The light seeping in between the curtains highlighted the folds of the shirt rucked up to reveal Cas’ abdomen, the trail of hair thickening toward his crotch, the whorls and turns of his tattoos, the rich tan of his legs and arms contrasted with the paleness of his belly. 

Cas was gorgeous, vivid, bright, his concern another weight heavy on Dean’s shoulders.

_ And Cas said he loved me. _

_...he said… _

_...and Jack said… _

_...and I… _

It was all too much.

“Are you alri--?”

With a sharp shake of his head, Dean slumped into his dog form. The popping of bones, the twisting of joints, the pain of the transformation, felt appropriate - necessary, essential, a counter-weight to the happiness he’d felt that morning in Cas’ arms, a punishment for how he’d treated Jack. A whimper forced through his teeth as his paws hit the floor, the blanket pooled about his legs.

“Oh.”

The room was blissfully gray, blue, yellow, colors muted and blurred, and the barbecue sauce scent of Cas enveloped him. Other smells wafted from beneath the door - a melange of other dogs, the steely  _ wrong  _ of Sam, Jo’s tangy scent, the stranger’s sweet aroma - and Dean snuffled at the blanket to mask the background noise. He didn’t want to think about anything or anyone.

“It’s okay, Dean.”

Except Cas. He longed to think of nothing and no one  _ but  _ Cas.

The knot in Dean’s chest eased.

“If silence is what you need right now...if being in dog form brings you comfort...that’s fine with me. I hope you’ll talk to me later but…”

Dean hoisted himself onto the bed and flopped beside Cas, dabbing a lick over his cheek. 

“...but it’s alright if we put that talk off until later.”

_...but we will need to discuss things soon… _

_...what things? I thought we were finally good!... _

_...another thing I don’t want to think about. _

Cas’ skin tasted salty, earlier dried tears invisible but vibrant on Dean’s tongue. Cas sighed with contentment, relaxing against the bed. A hand idly skimmed up Cas’ chest, shifting his shirt, eddying delicious smells into the air. Dean followed his nose, followed the promise of a distraction from his unpleasant thoughts. His tongue dried as he licked down, snagging bits of lint and fluff, and then moistened as he reached the delectable skin of Cas’ belly. Cas’ hand shifted to rest on Dean’s head, nudging him downward, massaging his temples and ears. 

“This is an unusual coping mechanism,” Cas murmured. “But you do seem calmer…”

_ Want you, Cas. _

A bitten back moan punctuated the soft blue glow that haloed the tattoos encircling Cas’ stomach, black lines seeming to thicken so that Dean could see them clearly.

_ Want you to remind me that you want me - that how I am isn’t wrong - that what we have together won’t change even if I need to be reminded, again and again, that you give a shit… _

_...that whatever you think we gotta talk about, it isn’t ‘us’… _

_...because I ain’t never wanted anything so bad as I want ‘us’... _

_...and if that’s a dream, if that’s crazy, then I don’t wanna wake up, don’t wanna be sane. _

Dean licked more eagerly, crawling down the bed. Cas arched up to meet him, pushing his stomach against Dean’s muzzle. Air swirled around them as he lifted an arm, put it over his mouth, confused Dean until laughter sounded, muffled by the door, and he remembered they weren’t alone in the house.

Dean froze.

“Nothing you don’t want.” Cas’ whisper was blurred by the arm over his mouth, gruff and deep with desire.

_ I want everything. With you, Cas - absolutely everything you’re willing to share. _

Blue flared and Cas gasped, choking the sound into his flesh. Unprompted by the fingers suddenly tense around his skull, Dean licked, savoring Cas’ flavor. The loose fabric of Cas’ pants tented around Cas’ thickening cock, cloth suffused with light, unable to contain the glow of the tattoos etched into Cas’ hips and thighs. Dean nosed at Cas’ crotch, licking at the fabric, nudging at Cas’ erection. The barbecue sauce flavor became more musky, somehow  _ deeper _ , and even more delicious - a feast for Dean to savor. Cas repressed whimpers, legs shifting, hips squirming, cock flopping and twitching and hardening as if pushing up toward Dean’s tongue. The hand left Dean’s head, fumbled at the pajama’s waistband, and Dean kept licking, kept licking.

_...want you desperate, want you eager, want you so hard... _

“...stop!” Cas burst out.

_...fuck... _

Dean froze.

... _ it’s okay if that’s not what you want...sorry if I came on too strong, I-- _

“...it’s okay, you’re okay - hell, you’re great, Dean, I just…”

With hasty, jerky motions, Cas lifted his legs, tugged and kicked at his pants until he got them off, and pivoted his hips to lay out his cock and balls and perineum and taint before Dean’s nose, an irresistible cornucopia.

Dean was going to devour him.

Fabric fluttered down around them as Dean lunged forward, dragging his tongue over the sensitive skin, over the wrinkled balls, up the length of Cas’ cock. Pubic hairs resisted the sweep, a couple dislodging in his mouth, and Dean shifted back, swallowed, and huffed out sultry air that dewed Cas’ pale skin with moisture. Cas twisted, pressing his face against the bedding to quench a sob, shoulders shaking.

_ I want to make you feel so, so good. _

_ When you feel good...when I  _ cause  _ you to feel good...fuck, it’s awesome to know I can do something right...that I can do something for you, Cas… _

_...no better feeling in the world... _

One of Cas’ legs flopped to the side, the other propped upright, knee bent, foot on the far side of Dean’s belly, heel pressing into the soft, sensitive skin. Dean inched forward, sniffing, blowing, licking, investigating. The liquid that beaded from the tip of Cas’ cock smelled salty-sweet. Cas’ dark pubes smelled of sauce and musk. Cas’ ass smelled...sweet, and dirty, and amazing.

Dean had smelled his share of dog asses over the years.

Dean had even licked a few dog asses.

It was a dog thing.

But this...this was new.

And...strangely intoxicating, amazingly enticing.

Curious, Dean licked the tight, wrinkled pucker.

_ Delectable. _

Trembling, Cas muted a groan into the blanket as the sound of excited conversation buzzed through the room. Cas’ heel urged Dean closer as Cas spread his legs wider and rolled his hips up to facilitate Dean’s access. Dean lapped at Cas’ hole again, pressing against it, pressing forward, pressing  _ in _ …

...and hesitated.

_ Is this good, Cas? _

“...De...Dean…” Cas panted. “Don’t...don’t stop…”

Curling his tongue, Dean wiggled against the tight sphincter, spreading it around him.

“...unless...oh God...unless you  _ want  _ to…”

_ Never want to stop driving you this crazy, my… _

Dean pushed in, stretching his long tongue, exploring how deeply he could penetrate.

_...my Cas… _

His eyes slipped shut.

The world was dark, the noises of life outside the bedroom fading into a background rushing noise. Dean’s focused on his mouth, the awareness narrowing to two senses, taste and smell. 

Heat surrounded Dean, as if Cas’ blue glow was a wonderful blaze, as if Cas was a splendid fire that Dean could forever curl up before. The barbecue sauce scent faded, shifted, was replaced by the smell of sweat and salt and sweetness and muskiness and spice. The aroma was so different from Cas’ usual smell, yet so essentially  _ Cas _ , that as Dean delved into Cas’ body, pulled his tongue out, plunged it back in, he realized for the first time that the barbecue sauce smell must be part of Cas’ magic - a manufactured scent to make him appeal specifically to  _ Dean _ . This new smell was radically different, radically Castiel, and so, so much  _ better _ . Dean wanted all of this flavor, wanted to roll in it, wanted to soak Cas into his fur and his skin and his insides, wanted to savor every lick as the finest of delicacies. 

Repressed sobs rippled through Cas’ body, caused his hole to twitch and clench around Dean’s tongue. The flavor of Cas’ ass defied description, should have been disgusted him  - Dean had  _ loathed  _ rimming men with his human tongue - but Cas was different, unique, and Dean was different - he was a damn dog - and he delighted in the flavor. Every lick was perfection. Every dab was delightful. Every shiver he teased from Cas’ body elated him. Pleasure seeped through Dean, stimulated by the pressure on his tongue, enhanced as Cas’ foot shifted against his belly, massaging, kneading, rubbing against Dean’s cock where it had pushed free of his foreskin. Dean’s hips worked forward, encouraging the touch, mimicking the thrust of his tongue into Cas’ hole. He settled into a rhythm, let sensation define him, lost himself in the feeling of Cas falling apart around him.

His eyelids glowed blue. The universe was reduced to Dean’s tongue and his dick, both stimulated, both rapturous. Dean  _ loved _ Cas, in every sense, and he’d never felt that sensation more purely.

“Dean…”

The whisper seemed a world away, meaningless compared to the majestic task before him and the bliss roiling him.

“...Dean, please…” Cas’ importuning tone broke through Dean’s euphoria, and he realized a hand gripped his head, nudging him back, pushing him away. 

Confused, bereft, Dean obeyed, crawling back, opening his eyes to rake his gaze up Cas’ body. Cas had pushed himself up on an elbow, half to a seating position. Even blurry, Dean could make out how wide Cas’ eyes were, how flushed his skin had become. The smell of Cas’ breath as he puffed out over-quick, his chest fluttering, swirled around Dean, the same new aroma of musky spiciness that was so luscious that Dean hoped Cas would never revert to smelling of barbecue sauce again. Dean had a new favorite smell, and Cas’ magic better fucking recognize that. Blue shone brighter than the sunlight outside their window. 

Holding Cas’ gaze, Dean dragged a slow lick up Cas’ crotch. Beads of pre-come diffused over his tongue, seasoning added to the taste that filled his mouth, the last dash of salt that completed a dish to perfection. A strangled sound burst from Cas, his eyelids incandescent, unable to block the glow from Cas’ eyes.

“...please!”

_ Tell me, Cas. Tell me what you want. _

“...in you…” Every word was a struggle, his chest heaving as it did when he strained through the most difficult part of a long run. “...want to...in you...please, Dean…”

_...oh, fuck yeah… _

“...please, please, please, please…”

Paws scrambling at the mattress, Dean hurried to make space so he could shift to human. He wanted Cas’ cock inside him, wanted--

“Wait,” Cas croaked. Dean blinked up at him. “Like this. Just like this. If that’s okay.” Cas flopped forward, twisting, reaching, nudging his tail aside, so one of his fingers could press suggestively at Dean’s ass. “Is this okay?”

_ When it’s you, Cas, everything is okay. I want what you want. Heck, I’ll try anything once...and if it’s good…I’ll try it again, and again, and again... _

Dean rolled, got his legs under him, turned, and hoisted his haunches for easier access.

_...and I have a feeling this is gonna be fucking  _ amazing _ … _

_...want you so bad... _

Cas groaned.

The whisper of chatter from downstairs when silent.

“...fuck…”

Dean snorted, a pale imitation of the raucous laughter in his head to hear how awkwardly Cas swore. Cas waited, still, silent save for the breath rushing in and out between his parted lips, until the background noise returned to normal, the conversation resuming unconcerned. 

“Quiet,” Cas reprimanded him. Dean twisted to shoot a stink eye over his haunches. As if  _ Dean  _ were the one who’d nearly screwed the pooch…

...no, Cas was definitely the one about to screw the pooch...and Dean couldn’t wait…

With gestures and pats and nudges, Cas directed Dean into position. When Dean balked at lowering his hind legs, Cas did a demonstrative thrust at air, causing the bed to creak and shift and bump the wall with a dull  _ whump _ . Chastised, Dean obeyed, settling onto his side, hips pivoted to the side so that his wet, red cock stood proud in the cool bedroom air and his tail was out of the way. On hands and knees, Cas crawled to his night stand, pulled open the drawer, retrieved a bottle of lubricant…

...and stopped.

...and stared.

_...what? _

...and didn’t fucking budge.

_...finally realize I’m a dog, and that you’re about to fuck me? _

Cas’ expression was unreadable, blurry, his scent powerful, his glow radiant. Heat surged through Dean’s veins to no avail, quenched as Cas remained still.

_...no matter how much I want this...gotta own...this is fricken weird...maybe he’s finally realized that...maybe it’s finally dawned on him that this is like the fricken definition of deviant behavior… _

_...but fuck, I still want to do this so badly. _

Dean whimpered.

_...please, Cas...don’t stop now… _

He shifted his hips, and Cas’ head followed the movement as if he were hypnotized. The musky smell intensified, flooded the room. Fuck, they might keep silent enough to fool their house guests, but every dog in a fricken mile radius would be able to smell their arousal, like a damn porno soundtrack being blared out over a megaphone.

Awkward.

_ So, Jack, about the birds and the bees and the djinns and the skinwalkers...sometimes when daddy and daddy like each other very much… _

That was another talk Dean did  _ not  _ want to have later. 

_ ….aw fucking hell, abort, abort. I do  _ not  _ want to think about Jack and sex. I do  _ not  _ want to think about myself as anyone’s daddy - literally, adoptive, kinky, or otherwise. I do  _ not  _ want to imagine myself doing dad shit with Jack. _

_ Ever. _

_ Because… _

_...because... _

The bed bounced as Cas lunged forward. There was a flurry of movement Dean couldn’t follow, and as lips closed around his cock, he couldn’t be bothered to give a shit. All thought fled - thank fricken  _ God _ , or, really, thank fricken  _ Cas  _ \- as Cas’ mouth surrounded him, swallowed him down, and sucked.

Holy  _ hell  _ that felt good. Flopping lip against the bed, Dean let his hind legs sprawl limp to the sides, exposing himself belly up with all the trust and affection he felt. His mouth still tasted gloriously of Cas, his tongue licking at his lips, licking at air, as Cas licked at his dick. The bed bounced and shifted beneath him, but there was no tracking how Cas moved, only touch and bliss to tell Dean that Cas had a hand on his backside, had lube on his fingers, and…

...a finger pressed at his hole, wiggled, a nail scraping lightly over the sensitive skin…

...and pushed in.

New sensation, weird pressure and strange friction, caused Dean to clench, resisting. Cas eased his finger out, slid it back in. His tongue lapped at the tip of Dean’s cock, and Dean was...Dean was fricken  _ gone _ , holy shit, Cas’ finger like a damn rod of solid rapture in his ass, Cas’ mouth close and hot and insanely good around his dick. 

Nothing that had happened to Dean in the umpteen years he’d been a dog had felt this good.

Fuck, nothing that had happened to Dean in his entire shit-tastic  _ life  _ had felt this fricken  _ amazing _ . It was a damn good thing he was a dog, or else he’d be screaming Cas’ name to the rafters, and forget worrying if anyone who heard - let them hear, let them be jealous that Dean fricken Winchester was having the lay of his  _ life _ , riding Cas’ finger, fucking Cas’ mouth like it was his job.

_...and it’s not a job, not this time, never again... _

Whimpers and whines leaked from his open mouth. Twinges of pain accompanied each roll of his hips as his back stretched and he thrust up, up, up, into the welcome glory of Cas’ mouth. The bed bounced, rocked, and Dean couldn’t bring himself to give a shit why until the smell of Cas intensified and heat told him something was near his face. Experimentally, he licked up, and his tongue found wrinkled, sumptuous skin.

Cas’ ass.

_...Cas, you kinky, awesome, son of a bitch… _

Eager for another taste of Cas’ musk, Dean licked up, pressed in, adored the feel of Cas shimmying down and back against his muzzle in a silent but expressive plea for more. Cas’ cock hung heavy over Dean’s neck, dripping fragrant pre-come into his fur. 

Such a waste. 

Dean strained to run his tongue down Cas’ length, lapping up every savory, precious drop of early release, and Cas hummed a moan around Dean’s dick. His knot ached, swelling, massaged by Cas’ lips as Cas’ tongue lapped and licked at his tip. A second finger joined the first, stretching him open, spreading him apart, coating his insides with slick. Eager for more wonderful vibrations, Dean pushed back into Cas’ loosened hole and teased out a moan, a whimper, a sigh that rushed cooler air over Dean’s achingly hot cock. How close he was to coming rose through him like a tidal wave, plowed him under like a damn avalanche…

...and then Cas was gone.

With an agonized yelp, Dean struggled to get his paws under him. His chest heaved with desperate breaths, his cock ached at the sudden neglect, stung as cold air contacted the exposed skin, and his ass was distressingly empty, rim clenching around nothing.

“Shh,” Cas scolded him. “Dean if you can’t…” He bit back a moan. The bed was shifting again, Cas a blue enhaloed blur trailing sparklers as he moved, eyes fixed on Dean’s crotch. “If...if you can’t keep quiet...gonna put a pillow over your head.”

_ Fine, fine, I’ll behave...for you, Cas, I’ll-- _

Cas’ weight settled over Dean’s belly and thick, solid weight pushed at his hole, and all sense evaporated save for the feeling of Cas’ cock sliding, inch by aching inch, into Dean’s body.

_...holy...unholy...death by kink  _ hell _ … _

Keeping silent was  _ hard _ \-  _ but not as hard as Cas’ cock, har-di-har _ . Controlling  _ any  _ part of himself was hard. Cas speared him, filled him, his body straining to accommodate a human cock. There was no pain - save from his creaking ribs and stretched back - but there was intense pressure, compressing his insides, friction tingling through him. Cas made small adjustments, pulling out, pushing in, every exhale tinged with guttural, deep noise. He leaned forward, hands flanking Dean’s shoulders, and buried his face against the thick scruff of Dean’s neck to drown a moan in Dean’s skin.

Cas’ hips rested flush with Dean’s belly.

Cas’ thighs pinned his tail.

Cas’ weight held him against the bed, smothering him wonderfully.

Cas’ cock impaled him.

Cas’ hand slid between them, wrapping around his cock, thumb pressing into his swollen knot.

The position was vulnerable, exposed, dangerous, but Dean didn’t feel an iota of fear, only rapture and desire and…

...and  _ need _ …

... _ move, Cas! _

Cas bit back a groan and obeyed. His hips worked up slowly, drawing him out, and he pushed back in gently until he was sheathed completely in Dean’s body. As he pulled out again, he rubbed at Dean’s dick, massaging and kneading rather than stroking, and Dean might have lost his fucking mind, he felt so good.

“...Dean…” Cas breathed.

_...Cas...Cas...that feels incredible… _

“Dean…” Cas drew the whisper out, as slow and soft as his thrust. “...Dean…” he repeated, deep, gravelly accompaniment to another thrust. “...Dean…” Another thrust. “...Dean…” Another thrust. “...Dean…”

...and Cas fucked him - no, Cas  _ made love  _ to him, and Dean  _ accepted  _ that love, and in his head he echoed every murmur, driven to blissed distraction by every thrust.

_...Cas… _

“...Dean…”

_...I want you… _

“...Dean…”

_...I need you… _

“...Dean…”

_...never want to leave your home… _

“...Dean…”

_...never want to leave your side… _

“...Dean…”

_...always want  _ you _ … _

“...Dean…”

_...only you… _

“...only you…”

_...love you… _

“...Dean!”

_...so much, Cas… _

“...oh, Dean…”

_...so much I can hardly stand it… _

“...’m yours, Dean…”

_...always...always yours… _

“...ohhh…”

_...that’s what I want - all I want… _

With a stuttering choked noise, Cas’ hips thrust into him once, hard, and blue flared around them as he came, mumbling incoherent devotion and praise. Dean  _ felt  _ Cas’ spill inside him as an even greater pressure, heard it as a soft squelch, smelled it as Cas’ scent burgeoned to suffocate his every sense.

...all I want...

“Ca…” Small sounds leaked from Cas. “...an...pl…” Dean struggled to understand, struggled to reach his climax. He was close, so close, but Cas had gone still, too enraptured to continue. Suppressing whimpers, Dean wiggled his hips, seeking stimulation. His orgasm was a yawning chasm, so close he balanced on the edge of the precipice, as out of reach as though a wall divided him from it.

_...all I  _ want _ … _

“...Deaaaaaaan…”

_...please, please, please, please, please… _

Cas’ cock dragged within his body.

Cas’ thumb pressed into his knot.

With a long whine, only somewhat muffled as Cas fumblingly pressed something soft over his muzzle, Dean came, spurting, thin come hot between them.

“...forg...ot…messy... _ good _ ...” 

Cas shuddered through another climax, pressure inside Dean growing, and he came again, again, leaking more and more come to soak Cas’ shirt and make the bed beneath them sodden. Desperate noises caught in Cas’ throat, and he twitched and whimpered as Dean’s ecstasy enveloped him, emotions bouncing between them until Dean wasn’t sure what he felt, what Cas felt, what delight they shared. All he knew was it was the greatest high he’d experienced, and it was a damn good thing he didn’t want to come down, because he didn’t think he could. His orgasm wasn’t a chasm he plummeted down - it was a clear blue sky - dazzling, clear, spectacular, exhilarating - through which they soared  _ together _ .

It was a long time before they landed, still together, replete and satisfied and sticky with come as they lay on the bed. Cas sprawled at his side, a hand draped over Dean’s side, his limp cock still caught within the muscles of Dean’s ass. Even blurry, Cas’ smile was astonishing, the sun in the sky through which Dean flew. Dean was soaked in Cas’ smell, mouth awash with his flavor, but he  _ wanted… _

...Cas’ eyes squeezed shut and he shivered…

...Dean  _ needed… _

...he had to  _ see _ .

For once, shifting didn’t hurt. It felt natural, comfortable, welcome. He closed his eyes to a fuzzy world of dull, limited hues, and opened them to a rainbow, every color reflected in Cas’ dimly glowing eyes, his come-soaked, plain t-shirt, every shade mapped into the tattoos etched into his skin. Cas lit up to see Dean transformed, literally, blue flaring anew around his arms and torso and legs and neck. 

Dean’s feeling of contentment, of satisfaction, of joy, was so profound, he opened his mouth to share it, but all he managed was, “wWw.”

“I know, Dean. I know.”

And the certainty that Cas  _ did  _ know, even when Dean couldn’t elucidate his feelings, was in some regards the best feeling of all.

_...nice sentiment but fuck that, it doesn’t hold a candle to how utterly fricken incredible that orgasm was… _

Dean laughed, delight reverberating in the air between them.

Afternoon sunlight warmed Dean’s back. Cas warmed Dean’s front. The silence was broken by the rush of the heat turning on, the click of it turning on, and by  _ clinks  _ and  _ clunks  _ downstairs - a meal being served, Dean guessed. No one had bothered to knock and invite them, which spoke volumes about how not-subtle they’d been despite their best efforts. The room smelled like sex, even to a human nose, and Dean couldn’t muster enough shits to feel guilty about something that made him so happy.

_...but Jack…he’ll smell it... _

_...I owe him an explanation… _

_...I owe him so much more than that... _

_...Jack… _

“Cas,” Dean mumbled. His mouth felt fuzzy and dry, and while part of him was sad that he no longer tasted Cas’ ass, he was also relieved. What dog-Dean delighted in...kinda grossed him out, as a human. Cas watched him, attentive, avid, five o’clock shadow tempting Dean to rub against Cas’ cheeks to savor the abrasion.

“...Dean?”

Right. He’d started to talk…

...started to  _ admit _ …

...and then just stopped.

And stared.

_ The more time I spend around Cas, the more I act like him.  _

“Everything alright?”

_ Weirdos, both of us. _

“Yeah...no...I mean, mostly…” Dean begrudgingly continued.

“I appreciate you clarifying that,” Cas deadpanned. Dean thwapped him on the shoulder and Cas laughed.

“All the big stuff is fine,” admitted Dean. “But...Jack…”

“...Jack…?”

“The oldest skinwalker?” explained Dean. 

_ Aw, hell, am I seriously about to say this when Cas doesn’t even know the boy’s name yet?  _

Cas made an  _ aha  _ face, his mouth in an...evocative... _ o  _ shape. 

Good mouth. 

Gorgeous mouth.

_ He had my cock between those lips not half an hour ago. _

_ Focus, Winchester. On something  _ other  _ than sex. _

“I was thinking...wondering...uh...he asked if he could stay.” Cas quirked a questioning eyebrow. “With us. Here. Like. Long term.”

“Your definition of ‘big stuff’ differs from mine…”

“Huh?”

“You don’t think suggesting adopting a child together counts as ‘big stuff?’” said Cas.

“That’s...that’s not…” Dean stammered.

_...it’s not what I mean? _

_ Why did I even bring it up, if not to suggest that I kinda sorta maybe distantly want him to stay? _

_ And by all that vague shit I mean… _

_...I really want Jack to stay. _

Threads of blue swirled around Cas’ arms and legs and limp dick.

_ I really want them all to stay. _

Cas’ tattoos morphed and shifted, magical as they arranged into new, more complex configurations.

_...and keeping them all, that’s not an option… _

_...but keeping Jack? _

_...maybe... _

“Yeah,” Dean muttered. “I guess...that is big. But…” 

_ Why the hell is this so hard to own? _

_ I’m totes cool with owning that Cas just had his dick up my canine ass. _

_...but admitting that I want more a family… _

_...admitting that having the other dogs with me is...soothing, comforting, calming, great,  _ right _ … _

“...but…”

_...this is so much harder to confess, a completely different kind of vulnerability than going belly-up for Cas... _

“...I want…”

_...and so much more important,so essential... _

“I’m listening, Dean. I trust you, and believe in you. If there’s something - someone - you want, explain it to me. We can discuss it and figure out a solution together.”

_...together… _

“I don’t want one of the folks you called to take Jack away. I want him to stay here. I want to adopt him.”

Blue swirled around them both, the brush of light over Dean’s skin as palpable and pleasant as a touch.

“Okay,” said Cas.

“...just that easy?” Dean blinked.

“I mean...I’d like to get to know him better, and there’ll be some challenges - does he have a social security number? - but if you want to adopt him, I’m open to the possibility,” Cas said.

_...open to the possibility… _

_...that’s...not yes… _

“Is that okay, Dean?”

_...but it’s not no… _

Dean swallowed against thick emotion rising in his throat. “Yeah, Cas,” he croaked. “It’s...it’s enough...it’s really great.”

“I’m gl--”

A knock interrupted Cas, and they both lifted themselves on an elbow to look toward the door.

“You two planning to come out this year?” called Sam. “Garth’s here.”

“Yeah…” Dean looked to Cas, who nodded. “...yeah, we’ll be down in a few minutes, Sammy…”

“Clothed, I hope - you’d better be dressed and decent!”

“Yes, Sam,” Cas replied, in flagrant disregard for the truth of their come-soaked appearance. “We’ll be decent. We’re fantastic.”

It wasn’t a lie.

Cas was fantastic.

Jack was fantastic.

And Dean...Dean might be a little...the barest smidge...fantastic.

“Awesome. Happy for you. Thrilled. Just...spare me gory the details. Please.”

Dean was fantastic.

“Oh no, you’re in for every juicy minute of play-by-play.”

All of them - Dean, and Cas, and Sam, and Jo, and...and Jack...maybe..hopefully…

“Ew. No. And we’re going home. Tonight. Because...ew.”

...they were fantastic  _ together _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I prompted you all to scream frustration at Dean last chapter. Hoped this helped. Have pity on the boy, he's had quite a few days...
> 
> (more to come soon!)


	25. Chapter 25

“Alright...let’s see these puppies of yours.”

Bobby’s gruff voice evoked the past so powerfully that Dean could only stand at the top of the staircase. He stared toward the front door but he saw Bobby’s salvage yard, heard the dogs barking raucous greeting, smelled the woodsmoke that permeated the air even in summer when Bobby hadn’t laid a fire in months.

The vision faded, the deep gruff  _ woof  _ of Bobby’s Rottweilers replaced by the high-pitched yip of excited skinwalkers. Sam’s enthusiastic greeting had clued Dean in to Bobby’s arrival, and  _ should  _ have reassured him that Bobby wouldn’t judge him about the whole ‘oops I’m a monster’ shit. If Bobby was cool with Sam’s demon blood garbage, surely Dean being a dog wasn’t so bad....

...but it had still taken Dean twenty minutes to work up the nerve to leave the bedroom.

The entry hallway was crowded with people. Jo and the stranger Dean had heard speaking earlier - and still hadn’t met, because he was a fricken wuss and hadn’t gone downstairs yet - were talking off to the side. Bobby and Sam squatted, a jungle gym for the floppy, eager puppies. Cas and Jack stood nearby, engaged in earnest observation and conversation, warming Dean’s heart, spiking his nerves. Jack didn’t know yet that Dean had had a change of heart, again because Dean was, again and ad infinitum, a goddamn wuss, and Cas wouldn’t spill the beans.

It wasn’t too late for Dean to change his mind.

One pooch bumped another puppy away from Bobby’s hand in pursuit of some of the gentle chin rubs that Bobby gruffly, begrudgingly, delightedly distributed. With a comical snarl, the shunted puppy lunged and buried gums and tiny teeth in the scruff of the other one’s neck. 

Dean didn’t  _ want  _ to change his mind.

In a ball of over-sized paws and fluffy fur, the puppies tumbled into their siblings, an adorable tornado of flailing paws and floppy ears and white and brown and black spots. Yips and yelps erupted, a cacophony that should have been annoying and instead gave Dean a warm, pleasant, alien, utterly inappropriate tightness in his chest.

But Dean  _ should  _ change his mind.

One of the puppies tumbled free from the melee. Bobby held out a welcoming hand for a sniff; the puppy - Alex - took one look at him, bared her teeth ridiculously, then bolted toward the stairs. Each riser was as tall as she was, but she climbed with gusto, scrambling up one, another, another, paws sliding on the bare, smooth wood, eyes fixed on Dean.

No matter how Jack looked at him, no matter how he felt when Alex rushed toward him, Dean was no kind of parent figure.

“Come on back here, ya little fool,” Bobby grumbled good-naturedly. “Gonna get yerself…”

Bobby froze at the base of the stairs, jaw agape, staring at Dean.

Well, fuck.

Alex nipped his bare toes.

Well, double fuck.

Squatting to scoop her up - and nearly tumbling down the stairs himself, his goddamn leg not wanting to support his weight - Dean kept his eyes on Bobby. The years had hardly touched the old coot. The wrists of his flannel were more frayed, his hat more faded, his eyes harder, his beard more salt-and-pepper, but otherwise...he was, every inch, the same Bobby Singer.

“Son of a bitch.”

Okay, maybe not  _ every  _ inch. His mouth was agape and shock widened his eyes. Bobby was unflappable, prepared, and educated - nothing took him by surprise.

Except, apparently, Dean.

“Uh. Hi, Bob--”

The clomp of boots on wood interrupted Dean as Bobby lunged up the stairs and caught Dean in a rough embrace, squeezing him so tightly that Alex whined between them.

“Dammit, boy.” Bobby’s voice cracked with emotion. “Your daddy told me you were dead.”

“Was,” muttered Dean, blinking back tears. “To him, I was.”

“Son of a  _ bitch _ .”

“Sorry.”

“Not you, idjit!” Bobby snapped. He gripped Dean’s shoulders and shoved them apart, backing down a step to look at Dean searchingly. “John frackin’ Winchester. Don’t you  _ dare  _ apologize for him when you done nothin’ wrong.”

“I’ve done plenty wrong.” Dean struggled for equilibrium, pasting a sly grin on his face. “Stole that pie and never told you, smacked Sam and told him I’d do it again if he tattled, tore that book and blamed Rumsfeld…”

“Knew that was you, dumbass.” There was genuine warmth and affection in Bobby’s voice, and something in Dean’s chest snapped, brittle and painful. A single tear ran down his face.

“Bobby…” His voice quavered. “You should know…’bout me--”

“Stop right there.”

“But--”

“You alive?”

“...duh…”

“You kill anyone?”

“Oh, a whole bunch.” The sly grin felt like total bullshit but he clung to it, the only mask he had. Bobby raised an eyebrow at him. “Only folks who deserved it.”

“Then I don’t need to know nothin’ you don’t want to tell me. You got that, boy?” Bobby even waggled a finger at him.

Damn, Dean had missed the stodgy bastard. 

The pressure in his chest evaporated.

“I’m a skinwalker.” It wasn’t even difficult to say. In the hallway below the stairs, Cas beamed up at him. All eyes were on them, he noticed now, and the pressure tightened again, not so bad as earlier but still present. Everyone there knew Dean was a monster but, with so much attention focused on him, he felt like he had a target painted on his forehead.

“Pssh, that what’s got your panties in a twist?” Bobby rolled his eyes. “Join the club. Your brother guzzles baddie blood. Garth there’s a werewolf. Cassie’s a djinn. Heck,I  once spent a couple days as a vampire before Rufus found the cure. We all got a little monster in us.”

“‘Cept dad,” said Dean. Even the dirty jokes that flooded his mind about how much monster he’d had in him earlier couldn’t prevent traces of despondency from returning.

“You really believe that?” Bobby asked, staring him down with one eyebrow lifted skeptically.

_ Dad threatened to kill me. _

_ Dad tried to kill Sam. _

Dean swallowed.

_ Dad was all human. _

_ And all monster. _

Dean shook his head.

“Didn’t think so. Well, come on downstairs then. Wanna get to know these pups ‘fore I pick a couple to take home. Rumsfeld died years ago, and it’s been damn quite ‘round the Yard without him.” 

Bobby stomped down stairs and Dean trailed him. Alex squirmed in his arms, but when he leaned over to set her at the hallway floor, she snagged her sharp claws in the shirt he’d borrowed from Cas. The puppies, excited, frolicked and rolled over to Dean, rubbing at his ankles, sniffing him, nipping him. Jack watched, expression unreadable, and Dean offered him a hesitant smile.

“These ain’t your get, are they?” Bobby asked slyly.

“Wha?” Dean exclaimed. “Fuck, no! I ain’t cut out to be a dad, Bobby. These are the pups for adoption.”

Dean glanced toward the Jack. 

_...except...maybe... _

Jack’s expression fell, and the ache returned to Dean’s chest.

_...probably… _

Seeing Jack unhappy  _ hurt _ , and Dean had the insane desire to wade through the puppies, wrap an arm around Jack’s shoulder, pull him close, and lie to him that everything would be a-ok.

_...almost definitely not Jack… _

“Eh, no shame in having a litter or two,” said Bobby, squatting down and holding his hands toward the puppies. 

_...all ‘shoulds’ aside, I don’t think I could handle the guilt if I sent him away now. _

“But it don’t mean much.” Most of the dogs stuck close to Dean, but the bravest - or the dumbest - toddled forward, snouts extended as they followed their noses toward Bobby’s scent.

_ Yeah. Right. That’s the only reason I want Jack to stay. Liar, liar, pants on fire. _

“There’s more to being a dad than shootin’ your load into some heat-crazed bitch.”

“Bobby!” Sam choked. Jo snorted a laugh.

“What I’m sayin’,” Bobby said, ignoring the dogs nuzzling at his hands to fix Dean with a steely stare, then trail his gaze down toward Alex as she nipped his finger. “...is that family don’t start with blood, boy - your daddy’s proof of that - and it don’t end with blood, neither. You always had family in me, and I musta done a shit job of my part raisin’ you, if you didn’t realize that I’d welcome you no matter what some bite changed you into.”

_ Why  _ didn’t  _ I go to Bobby? _

“For that...for loads of other stuff, too, come to think...I’m sorry, boy.”

_ ‘Cause I thought he’d react the way dad did. _

“I’m so sorry, Dean.”

_ Dumb thing to think. I can’t recall a single fucking time dad apologized to me, no matter what bullshit he’d pulled, and Bobby just did it with a smile, easy as kiss my hand. _

“Not your fault,” said Dean thickly. “I’m an idiot. The fricken king of shit-tastic choice land.”

“Don’t be so sure of that.” Bobby’s broad smile seemed directed at the pup that had latched onto one calloused finger. The dog pawed desperately at Bobby’s wrist and the floor as though trying to drag his prize away. Dean felt the kindness of Bobby’s look as if it were all for him. “And even if it’s true, your past don’t mean shit for your future.”

“...dunno ‘bout that…”

“Make better choices,” Bobby said sternly, giving Alex another pointed look. “And I’m definitely takin’ this little bugger.” He lifted his hand and dragged the puppy up with him, getting his other hand beneath the tiny waggling tail just as the dog’s jaw strength gave out and he tumbled. “He got any brothers and sisters? I’d hate to break up the litter.”

“Yeah,” Dean muttered, idly extracting his pinky from Alex’s mouth and glancing over to Jack. “That’d be a shame, wouldn’t it.” He tried another smile in the boy’s direction, and got one in return.

Jack was no idiot. He understood the subtext.

_ Heck, he’s probably super sensitive to that kinda shit, always listening to his family talking about how he’s not been adopted and that kinda garbage. Just like I was super sensitive to every word dad said - and every word dad  _ didn’t  _ say. _

_ Probably how Jack knew Uncle Nickie wasn’t taking them out to the barn for ice cream and Slim Jims. _

_ But he shouldn’t have to guess from subtext. _

_ I gotta be straight with him. _

“Hey, Jack,” said Dean. Jack perked up, facing lit by a smile. “While Bobby picks his pup, whaddaya say you and I have a chat?”

_...or at least as straight as my ragingly queer ass can be with anyone… _

“Oh! Uh.” Jack glanced to Cas, who smiled encouragingly and then directed a single, decisive, communicative nod to Dean. 

_...it’s way too soon for us to make a decision this big… _

_...but nothing has ever felt more right… _

_...except for hooking up with Cas in the first place, except for calling Pontiac home, except for reuniting with Sammy… _

_...this is alright. _

“Sure, Dean.”

_ Just cause decisions are made fast, doesn’t mean they’re the wrong decisions. _

“Come on.” Dean led the way to the living room, Alex still wiggling in his arms.

_ This is all. right. _

“Alright,” Dean said, spinning on a heel. “Sit.”

“Gonna tell me to heel, next? You know I’m not actually a dog, right?”

“Ha. Ha. Ha. Fine. Don’t sit. Whatever.” Disgruntled, Dean dropped into the armchair. Alex clawed her way to his shoulder and tried to eat his disordered, overlong hair. Jack remained standing, small in his nervousness. 

The hum of conversation, every word audible when Dean focused on it, resumed in the hallway, to the accompaniment of the puppies’ claws scratching at the floor, tiny growls, and the occasional high-pitched bark.

And Jack waited.

_ And I can’t even blame him for keeping quiet this time, ‘cause talking was my dumb ass idea. _

“So. Uh. Remember when you...ya know...asked about what was happening? And thought maybe you could stay?” Dean forced the words out, cursing himself for every stammer and stumble.

_ Be. A. Grown-up. Damnation! _

“What, you mean 6 hours ago?” Jack rolled his eyes. “Of course I remember. That ‘dogs have no short term memory’ thing is total hooey..”

“How the fuck are you so young and so totally full of salt ?” grumbled Dean. “And so full of things nursing home inmates say ‘cause they think that’s ‘how the kids talk these days?’”

“And I remember that you said no.” Jack fixed him with a no-nonsense stare, taking none of his shit.

So much for lightening the mood, and buying himself time to figure out how to speak in full sentences.

“Well. Yeah. About that.” Dean had never been more glad for a distraction in the form of Alex  launching herself at his face, snapping at his nose, and tumbling into his lap, yelping like she’d hurt herself. The eager hope that flared on Jack’s face was hard to watch. Dean righted the puppy, tried to offer her a comforting pet, and got a paw to the crotch for his efforts.Oh yeah. Everything was  _ awesome _ .

Jack stared at him, biting his lip.

No help for it but to just...

“You, uh. Maybe you could stay.”

...say it.

“Maybe?” ...and there was the disappointment again.

Totally misplaced disappointment, and entirely Dean’s fault for being fricken  _ pathologically  _ incapable of just saying flat out…

_...no _ actually  _ fucking say it! _

“I want you to stay.” From the corner of his eye, he saw blue swirl in the hallway. How the hell did Cas always  _ know _ ? An astonished, delighted smile broke like sunrise over Jack’s face. “If you wanna stay. You can stay. Here. With me. And with Cas. We’d, uh, we’d like that.”

“I’d like that too,” said Jack, all avid interest, then his expression went shrewd. “But you guys are loud. And smelly. And gross.”

“What we did was a natural act,” Dean protested, cheeks growing hot.  _ Is there literally  _ anything  _ natural about a djinn ass-fucking a dog?  _ “And...I mean…”

“Anyone ever told you that you’re hilarious and  _ completely ridiculous  _ when you get tongue tied?” Jack sniped, rolling his eyes. “Do you know what it’s like when your  _ mom  _ goes into heat, Dean? I know about sex.”

“You  _ shouldn’t  _ know about sex! You’re just a kid!”

“I’m not  _ just  _ a kid, dummy.”

“We have  _ got  _ to work on that attitude of yours. And your vocabulary. Dummy? Really? That the best you got?”

“Jerk.”

_...and now he sounds like Sam _ .  _ And what did dad always do when Sam and I went at each other? _

Dean did his best to emulate his dad’s patented Stern and Serious expression and voice. “Respect your elders!”

“Respect is earned,” said Jack blandly, supremely unawed. Fucking  _ power move _ . Dean wished he’d had the balls to say that to dad. Not even Sam went that far. “But whatever you say, dad.”

They both froze.

Alex tumbled to the floor, barking like mad. Dean reached down to pick her up again.

“I mean...I didn’t mean…” Jack stammered.

“It’s okay,” Dean managed, hissing as Alex latched onto his hand and shook. 

“I’m sorry!”

“Jack. It’s okay.” Dean rose, setting Alex on the floor, ditching dad’s Stern and Serious expression. Why the fuck would he think, even in jest, that imitating his dad was a good parenting approach? “It’s seriously okay. If you, uh...if you wanna call me that...it’s alright.”

Jack swallowed. “I’m not sure it is alright,” he said guiltily. “It didn’t...it wasn’t...right.”

“Oh.” Dean felt  _ disappointed _ . “That’s. That’s okay, too.” Fuck him six ways from Sunday. And not in the fun ‘Cas is a needy top’ way, either.

“Dad was...dad was kinda...not good,” Jack confessed. “A...a huge douche bag,” he added defiantly, then gave Dean a shy, approval-seeking look. The moment was such utter proof that Dean had no business as a dad, and so utterly heartwarming and perfect, that a tear came to Dean’s eye. Jack waited until Dean nodded confirmation, then repeated confidently, “Dad was a tremendously huge douche bag. Not like you. I don’t want to think of you...the way I think of him.” 

God, Dean related to this kid so fuckin’ hard, it was like they were made for each other. 

_ Yeah, made in the same bullshit school of hard knocks, shitty parents, and abandonment issues. Good times. What a great reason to relate to someone. _

“Call me whatever the fuck you want,” said Dean gruffly. 

_ But it’s not my fault his childhood has been shit so far, just like it’s not my fault that  _ my  _ childhood was shit, or that Sam’s was shit. _

He stepped to Jack, bumping Alex away from chewing at the coffee table leg. 

_ It  _ will _ , however, be  _ entirely  _ my fault if Jack’s childhood  _ continues  _ to be shit. _

“Come here,” he mumbled, wrapping an arm around Jack’s shoulder and tugging him close. 

_ I can do better than those asshole skinwalkers. _

Jack went rigid, uncomfortable, and the familiar litany of  _ damn, fucking it up already Winchester _ started in Dean’s head, only to fall spectacularly silent as Jack threw his arms around Dean’s waist, snuggle close to him, and turn his head so his ear was placed to hear Dean’s heartbeat.

_ He  _ deserves _ that I do better than his birth family.  _

“You ain’t goin’ anywhere.”  _ And I deserve this chance to give someone else what I never got from dad. I can do better than that dillhole.  _ “You’re staying right here with us.”

_ Fuck, having him here, knowing he’ll be staying, feels good. _

“Thanks, Dean.”

Alex yipped and bit into his ankle joint. Dean tensed so hard that Jack grunted, and used his other foot to push Alex away, resisting the urge to kick her.

“...and I don’t think Alex is going anywhere, either,” he said, resigned. 

_ Having them both here...knowing they’ll both be staying...cause I can’t imagine Cas’ll say no to a second puppy...it feels... _

“That sounds...excellent?” Jack said experimentally, and shook his head, rubbing closer to a confused Dean. “That sounds  _ awesome _ .”

_ Oh. He was searching for something more like...more like what he thought I would say. _

_ Dumb kid, emulating me. _

_ But...yeah. It feels awesome. _

“Good talk, Jack.”

“ _ Awesome  _ talk, Dean.”

_ This is awesome. _


	26. Chapter 26

“So, Joanna Beth, how have you been?” Even with a scolding note in her voice, Jo’s mom Ellen sounded affectionate. 

_...yet another way to be a parent. I don’t have to follow dad’s... _ John’s _...model... _

As Jo grumbled through an answer, Dean let the conversation wash and flow around him. 

_...I don’t have to be like Jack’s skinwalker folks... _

Given how much of the day Dean had slept, he shouldn’t be exhausted, but damn, all he wanted was to sleep. 

_...can be like Bobby, or Ellen, or... _

He couldn’t, though. 

_...or like me.  _

The crowd over-populating Cas’ living room was too overwhelming, the rise and fall in volume too random and erratic for him to relax. He couldn’t turn his brain off, couldn’t pretend that what they were discussing was nothing to him.

The people in that room - Cas, of course, and Sammy and Jo and Bobby, even the ones he’d just met, Garth, and a vampire named Lenore, and Ellen - were everything to Dean. 

_ Maybe I’m...dad enough just as I am. _

Dean sighed, blowing out through his nostrils, drying them. Beside him, Jack shifted, twitched, then eased again into deeper sleep. Ostensibly, Dean had justified his change to dog form by claiming the room was too crowded. In reality, he’d just been  _ done _ playing at human, meeting new people, processing emotionally fraught conversations, using his words. He didn’t think he’d fooled anyone - he sure hadn’t fooled Cas, or Sam, or Bobby - but no one objected. He was content to lie on the floor before the doorway, blocking traffic, with Jack tucked against his belly, sheltered between his four legs, and Alex lying heavy on his side, an annoying yet welcome weight with every breath.

“Tell us about this Hunt that left you with all these puppies!” said Garth, the most irrepressibly cheerful person Dean had ever met. It was hard to believe he was a Hunter, much less a werewolf. He gave off the same vibe as...fricken Raffi or something, Ringo Starr singing “Octopus’ Garden” to a circle of multi-ethnic smiling children. Dean should hate him.

Dean already...maybe...kinda...a little...dug him. 

Platonically.

Affection came easier these days.

_ …”these days”...dude, it’s been like twelve hours. Three days tops. These changes aren’t permanent and they’re gonna take a lot of work and bullshit to maintain, but...it’ll be worth it in the long run. _

_ I’m looking forward to trying, and to seeing who I’ll be now that I’m finally allowing myself to grow up into...myself. _

Sam launched into an explanation - the information they’d gotten from their reconnaissance and form Dean, how they’d stormed the house, detailed information about how Sam and Jo and Cas had stormed the house and killed the adult skinwalkers living there - and Garth smiled and nodded, scent never wavering from dangerous, scary, big, sick _ ,  _ and  _ calm _ .

Seriously, he was the most placid mother fucker Dean had ever met.

Mr. Fricken Rogers with an infectious bite, a silver allergy, a trunk full of weapons, and a damn sock pocket.

God, their lives were fucked up.

The back door was ajar, a current of cold air stirring over the ground, so the puppies and Dean could go out without interrupting the humans’ dinner.

_...I could still go. Nothing keeps me here. If this is too bizarre, too  _ much _ , I could walk out, maybe take Jack with me, find us a home with some ordinary human family with 2.5 children in a Chicago exurb and let them feed us beef-based canned dog food and take us to Doggy Day Care when they’re at work.  _

_ It wouldn’t be a bad life. _

“Meg sure is taking her sweet time getting here.”

_ But it wouldn’t be better than this. _

“She dropped a line about needing to pick up a few things but honestly?”

_ It’s not just that this is where I want to be… _

“I think she’s just worried about how the puppies will react to a bona fide demon.”

_...as crazy as this is, this is where I  _ belong.

A hand brushed Dean’s hear, tickling him, and he twitched his ear aside. His whiskers vibrated, and the scent of musk and spiciness and a hint of tomato told him who had come and sat beside him with the dull  _ whump _ of ass hitting floor.

Cas.

He no longer suffusing the air with barbecue sauce. Though Dean would probably never be sure why the aroma had changed...barbecue sauce was no longer Dean’s favorite scent. Consciously or unconsciously, Cas shifted to meet Dean’s desires, and Cas’ smell, exactly as it was  _ naturally _ , was what Dean wanted to smell. 

“Think you’ve got the right idea,” Cas murmured, skooching until his back was against the wall beside the doorway. “This is exhausting.”

Cas, exactly how he was, weird and quirky and sweet and caring and desperate and naive and covered in shifting tattoos and glowing blue in response to Dean’s every random desire…

... _ Cas _ was precisely who and what Dean wanted.

Blue enveloped them, making the blurred rest of the room as misty as a dream.

Dean pushed against the floor with his uninjured hind leg, sliding over the smoothed wood until he was close against Cas’ hip. He pulled the puppies with him. Jack didn’t even twitch a reaction, but Alex rose with a yawn, stretched and kneaded her paws against Dean’s chest, walked across Dean onto Cas’ lap, and fell asleep again with a squeaky yawn.

Dean’s family.

All in one place.

Comfortable, and safe, and surrounded by noisy humans and monsters...noisy  _ people _ ...who cared about them.

Surrounded by peaceful, calming, beautiful swirling blue.

The day  _ had  _ been exhausting, but it had also been good.

“Yes, Dean,” said Cas sleepily. “It’s very good...great.” He laid one hand on Alex, her body so small compared to him that his cupped grip covered her side, and tangled his other hand in the long fur around Dean’s neck. “This is…” He sighed contentedly. “This is perfect.”

_ It’s not perfect. _

_ I’m an emotional wreck.  _

_ Cas is a study in over-accommodation in a desperate search for the good vibes he gets when the people around him feel good. _

_ Jack is a six-month-old who’s been abused by his parents and thinks that somehow I and Cas are the magical solution to his family troubles.  _

_ Sammy is a demon blood addict.  _

_ Bobby reeks of loneliness.  _

_ Garth is a werewolf, and Lenore yearns for blood she won’t let herself have, and Ellen looks like she’s on the verge of handcuffing Jo to bring her home - and Jo looks like she’s perpetually one more snarky mom comment from decking Ellen if she tries. _

_ And not a single one of us would stop short of murdering someone, monster or otherwise, if we thought they deserved it. _

_ We’re fucked up, everyone. _

_ We’re far from perfect, will never be perfect… _

_...heck, I don’t  _ want  _ to be perfect... _

_ But I want to be here. _

Blue streamers swirled and glittered, whispering around Cas’ fingers, glimmering beneath his clothing.

_ This isn’t perfect. _

“I love you, Dean.”

_ Heck, I’m still not 1000% convinced it’s not a djinn dream. _

“I’m so glad you’re here, that you came to live with me, that you came back, that you’ve stayed.”

_ But it doesn’t matter. _

“And I’m glad for Jack and Alex, too.”

_ Because this is home. _

“I can’t wait to get to know them better.”

_ Because this place...these people...this family...is perfect for  _ me.

“I can’t wait to raise them, with you.”

_ Because I love my brother, and Bobby, and Cas...and as crazy as it is, given how short a time it is, I’m pretty damn sure I love Jack and Alex, too. _

“I can’t wait to wake up with you beside me everything morning.”

_ Because there’s no place else I’d rather be. _

“I can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings.”

_ Because this place and these people are my future, and it’s never looked brighter. _

“Thank you for being my...thanks for being  _ you _ , Dean.”

_ Thanks for absolutely everything, Cas. _

_ This  _ is  _ perfect. _

_... _

_ But we’ve gotta figure out what to call each other. _

_Another conversation, for another day._

_I can't wait._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so, if this sounds and feels like an ending...that's cause it basically is.
> 
> Which isn't to say there isn't an entire other chapter coming, cause there is.
> 
> There's a smut scene I've been thinking about since I first had this idea. And I can't figure out how to incorporate it narratively in any way that makes any sense. And blah blah blah kill your darlings cut out things that don't make sense to make the story better something something bblergh.
> 
> If I can't be self indulgent in fanfiction, when can I be?
> 
> So there's a final chapter timestamp/epilogue coming which is nothing but unadulterated kinky sentient creature bestiality PWP smut. Smut always takes a lot of words so I'm guessing it'll take me a few days and it'll probably come in around 5k.
> 
> If that's your thing, you're welcome.
> 
> If it's not your thing, feel free to consider this the end of the story - because it essentially is.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, everyone. This story has been great for me, both for showing me that I can be a SAHM and still carve out time to write and get shit done, and also because all the encouragement in your comments has really kept me going.
> 
> And don't forget to follow me @unforth on [tumblr](https://unforth.tumblr.com) and/or [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/unforth).


	27. Chapter 27

_...come fuck me…_

The distant scent of a dog in heat reached Dean’s nose. Once upon a time, he’d been unable to resist the call of that intoxicating aroma, but now it was...not easy, but doable.

_...it’ll be so good..._

Rising wind carried the smell, waxing and waning in intensity. Dean loped down the street, heading home after several hours of sniffing out baddies in the woods. He’d found a few promising leads, but after a couple...a handful...maybe a dozen...okay, a _lot_ of close calls, he’d agreed not to get too close to any potential threats alone.

_...come fuck me…_

Dogs in the homes he passed barked - at him or at the ebbing heat scent, it was impossible to tell. It was an unusually powerful scent - the poor dog in question must be large, and desperate, and wet, and tempting, and...

_...please, please fuck me…_

Dean’s nose tickled, and he scrunched it up. His paws carried him several inadvertent steps in the direction from which the wind blew. Annoyed, he stopped, shook, long fur tossing about his sides, tail, head, and neck. His nose itched again and he sneezed, briefly dissipating the smell, but it came back stronger for the momentary absence.

_...show me what you’ve got, big boy..._

Jack was at school. Alex was with Sam and Jo for doggy daycare. Cas was at home, probably asleep in bed, _hopefully_ asleep, he’d gotten off one of his crazy twenty-four-hour EMT shifts roughly an hour ago.

_...you know you want to…_

There was literally nothing that some poor unspayed mutt could offer Dean that was better than what he already had.

_...I need it..._

Cas was waiting for him.

Dean made the turn onto Crescent Street, their house coming into view down the block, and he eagerly pushed himself to a lope, covering ground quickly, a hitch in his step where his back leg hadn’t healed right.

_...I need you…_

To his surprise, the scent thickened, pheromones like a damn fog as he approached the house. A stray stood on their porch, pawing at the door, baring teeth at Dean to ward off competition. Dean snarled and bit at air and the stray bolted with a yelp. He hit the button to operate the dog flap they’d installed, anticipating the clean air within, darted into the house, took a deep breath, and--

 _\--come_ now _!_

The house stank of desperation, and Dean could fight his inner dog no longer. His nose led him up the stairs, to their bedroom, to _Cas_ , kneeling naked on his hands and knees, carpet bunched beneath him, ass exposed and gleaming with blue, sparkling with wetness, _reeking_ of _fuck me right now_.

Dean leapt at Cas, mindless, crazed, achingly hard. His paws encircled Cas’ sides and Cas cried out. The rough pads on his feet abraded Cas’ belly as he sought leverage, hips already pivoting, pivoting, as his cock sought entry into Cas’ needy hole.

“Dean!”

The first thrust missed, as did the second, the third, jamming against Cas’ crack, his perineum, his balls, then with a shimmy forward and a lunge, Dean was inside Castiel, stuffing him full. Even Cas’ scream couldn’t compel Dean to stop. A troubled mental whisper dared suggest to restraint but he was dog enough that the smell - coupled with it being _Cas_ , prepped up and ready and so obviously waiting for him to do exactly as he was doing - drove Dean to distraction. He humped forward, desperate, high on the pressure of Cas heavy and powerful beneath him and around him. They’d never done this before, but Dean had wanted to, _fuck_ had he wanted to, and now he had Cas under him and it was fricken _glorious_.

“Don’t stop!” Cas gasped, and Dean’s last reservations fled. Cas’ arms went out from under him and he rocked forward then back, pushing his ass hard into Dean’s crotch, hoisting himself back to meet every thrust. “...yes!”

The dogs’ Dean had fucked before had nothing on being with a human, on being with _his_ human. Cas trembled and shook and cried out, encouraging him. Breath puffed hot out of his mouth, his tongue lolling, as he hitched forward, seeking deeper, seeking _more_. Cas’ rim clenched and quivered around his shaft, like a fricken massage to Deans knot, and he swelled as desperation gave way to bliss, spiraling through him searing hot and out of control. Grunts and whines spoke to his effort, his paws sliding as he sought traction on the floor, on Cas’ smooth abs. Gentleness was inconceivable when faced with the enticement of whatever Cas had smeared himself in, and Dean fucked into Cas’ hole hard, rough, in-out, in-out, in-out, as Cas sobbed in pleasure and rocked beneath him.

“...oh…”

Dean’s knot swelled, fricken _engorged_ with the blood that surged and boiled through his body. His orgasm was a damn runaway train, inexorable, inescapable, building so powerfully he was frightened. Shifting his paws to Cas’ chest, he pulled himself up, got himself better leverage, and fucked down - fucked down - drew himself out - thrust back in - drew himself out - thrust back in - and caught.

“... _oh_ …”

Frantic, so close to his orgasm, so incredibly damn _far_ from his orgasm, Dean humped forward. Cas slid over the floor, slid away from him, and his back paws scrambled to keep him in place. His knot tugged at Cas’ rim as their bodies shifted apart, straining to keep them together, and with a final surge Dean caught his balance, pushed himself forward, and stuffed Cas full. Shuddering, sobbing, crying out, Cas went rigid around him, and the smell of _Cas_ overwhelmed the artificial heat scent as Cas came, spurting untouched onto the floor.

Dean was fucking _lost_.

Sound roaring in his ears, blood coursing through his veins, he came, rutting into Cas as rapture devoured him. Come shot into Cas’ tight channel, slickening around him, and his knot swelled to keep him from slipping free. Trembling with effort, driven by need, Dean kept thrusting, kept coming, semen suffusing around his cock, leaking out around his knot, coating Cas’ thighs, dripping to the floor. Cas whimpered beneath him, still rocking back into every thrust, muscles spasming with effort and fatigue, ass clenching as if to suck Dean dry. Their scents mingled, dominance and possessiveness curling hot in Dean’s gut, and he couldn’t stop, couldn’t stop, orgasms rattling through him until all he could do was shake and whine and come.

Cas collapsed onto his side, and as one they cried out in pain as their joined bodies tugged and pulled. Dean scrambled and flailed for balance as he was dragged along, and Cas gasped apologies as he tried to help Dean find a position that accommodated them both. They settled into position - Dean squeezed his eyes shut against a final tide of bliss - and then they slumped against the floor, breathing hard.

“...that...that was incredible…”

_...wanted that for so long…_

Gentle blue coalesced around Cas, an innocent contrast to the stink of sweat and come and pheromones and raw _sex_ that permeated the air. Tension yet bunched Cas’ shoulders, and Dean painted soft licks down his spine, following the curve and swirl of his tattoos, until Cas eased and relaxed with a contented sigh.

“...thank you, Dean…”

The salty-sweet taste of sweat was delicious, suffused with pure Cas, a slight hint of barbecue sauce and a lot of spicy-sour musk, seasoned with the fake pheromones, fruity in their pungence. Dean licked, rubbing his paw over Cas’ side, back leg kicking at air, and Cas reached back, pet his side, scrunched his fingers along Dean’s ribs.

“...sorry to spring that on you,” Cas murmured. Dean licked the reassurance he couldn’t voice _\- it’s okay, Cas, if that’s what you want...I wish you’d told me, but I don’t mind finding out like this. It was fun. We could do it again sometime...often...soon...as long as the kids aren’t home..._ “I’ve dreamed so long of waiting for you just like I did...your bitch in heat…” The dirty talk was stilted from Cas, and awesome. Dean shook in a silent chuckle. “...but I should have asked first.”

_I’m glad you didn’t._

“Dean?”

_...finding you waiting here for me, prepped and needy and delicious, was...a gift. A really awesome gift._

“...thank you so, so much…” Cas sighed again, going quiet, going still. The air was thick, the room calm and quiet around them. Their breath synced, chests rising and falling as one. By degrees, Dean calmed, and Cas calmed, and…

...and it was nice…

...though there was still an itch beneath Dean’s skin, a whisper of desire spurred by the mating pheromone Cas had slicked himself with.

With a silly squelch, Dean’s shrinking knot slipped free from Cas' ass. A burst of smell came with it, delicious and tempting, the ideal combination of Cas and Dean and heat.

“I should clean us up,” Cas murmured. Pushing himself to a seated position, he reached up, grabbed the bed, hoisted himself partway up. With a shake, Dean followed, tail wagging lazily as he stood. “But all I want to do is sleep.” His hole, dribbling Dean’s come, redolent with fruity, enticing _come fuck me_ scents, was at nose level.

Dean leaned forward and sniffed.

Shuddering, Cas froze, butt up, torso propped against the bed.

Dean licked.

Cas moaned, flopping forward.

Oh, that was good.

They’d done this before - Cas loved a tongue in his ass, crazy djinn - but never when Cas was flooded with Dean’s come. Satisfaction, rich and warm, swelled Dean’s chest. Cas tasted like pheromones, and he tasted like himself, but more than anything, he tasted like _Dean_ , and Dean savored every drop. He licked along Cas’ legs, lavishing attention on the sensitive skin behind Cas’ knees, dwelling contentedly on Cas’ come-coated thighs. Replete, pleased noises leaked from Cas and he shifted against the bed until he lay, limp, legs dangling against the side, chest flat against the blankets, head propped up on his arms, ass at a perfect height for Dean to sit, lean forward, and press his tongue into Cas’ relaxed hole.

Dean _loved_ eating Cas out.

All the softness absent from Dean’s rough fucking returned as he rimmed Cas within an inch of his life. Every flavor was new and special. Every smell was tempting and encouraging. Every sound was a reward for Dean’s efforts. He worked, licking outside, pressing in, pulling out, until Cas shook with pleasure, until Cas’ cock thickened anew.

“...please, Dean…”

_Anything you want, Cas._

“...oh, please…”

_Just tell me and I’ll do it._

“...please, please, please…”

Cas’ desperation was...okay, it was adorable. Dean licked harder, fucking his tongue in and out, as Cas’ pleas grew breathier and less coherent. Cas’ ass rutted back against Dean’s muzzle, rubbing Dean’s nose against the soft skin above Cas’ taint as Dean’s tongue plunged in.

“...in me!” Cas burst out.

_I am in you Cas._

“...in me again, Dean, please, like before!”

_...no._

“...anything...please, I need…”

_...not yet. You wanted this - you wanted me driven to distraction - and you got it. Now it’s my turn to set the pace._

“...so close…”

_You’re right where I want you._

“...gonna...gonna…”

Curling his tongue, Dean stretched Cas around him, wishing he had a damn hand so he could stroke Cas’ dick. Cas twitched against the bedspread, rubbing his cock against the side of the mattress. Flavor and feel guided his work and he licked within Cas’ channel until he found the raised nub, and he _pressed_.

With a shattered, begging noise. Cas came, smearing semen into the sheets.

Dean kept licking.

Cas shuddered through another climax.

Dean kept licking.

Cas wept, shimmying back against him.

Dean kept licking.

And kept licking.

And kept licking.

Boneless with bliss, Cas went limp.

Finally, licking his chops, Dean stopped.

“Greaaaaat,” Cas slurred. Curling onto his side, Cas pulled his legs onto the bed with effort; Dean nudged with his head to help until Cas, comfy, on his stomach. Cas giggled, reached back, and bopped Dean on the nose. “You’re great.”

_I know._

_Now, thanks to you, I know._

Dean hoisted his front legs to join Cas on the bed and was surprised by the weight of his cock, heavy and thick between this legs. The itch of desire surged into need, Cas’ smell dizzying him. Cas rolled, edging up the bed, and Dean leapt, pinning him, and thrust down.

His cock found Cas’ hole in one try, like that ass was fricken _made_ to accommodate him.

Cas _howled_.

Dean echoed him, surrendering to his desire. Cas could tell him to stop, if he didn’t want this, but Cas said nothing, lifting his hips in invitation, letting Dean take what he needed, take and take, fucking in. Cas was stretched and limp, open and easy, slick with come and spit and pheromone lubricant. Dean should go easy on him - _knew_ he should ease up - but now that he was in Cas again, now that he was feeling his own pleasure instead of focusing entirely on Cas’ - he couldn’t restrain himself.

Everything with Cas felt so incredible.

And Dean needed to feel...needed…

...he needed to break this cycle, before he fucked Cas delirious, before he knotted Cas a second time, and a third, and a fourth, in pursuit of his skinwalker instinctual need to _fuck, claim, breed, own, mine, mine, mine_ , a bitch in heat. No other dick could be permitted to fill this hole. No other son of a bitch got to soak Cas with come. As satisfied as Cas already was, as long as that heat scent filled his nose, Dean would keep fucking him and fucking him until they were beyond exhausted, as he was fucking him and fucking him now, driving himself down into that hot ass, chasing that spectacular friction, knot swelling once more as he barreled toward another orgasm.

Their dynamic needed to change.

 _Dean_ needed to change.

...and so…

...he did.

He couldn’t bring himself to stop fucking forward; he initiated his transformation mid-thrust, bones growing and shifting, hair receding, limbs extending, cock changing. His weight increased, pressing into Cas’ back, the pain pulling him back from the brink of orgasm but not enough to soften him or stop him. From one sniff to the next, the smell spurring him on evaporated, but desire yet drove him on.

He’d never been more glad that he never got the hang of Jack’s clothing retention trick.

“Dean,” Cas panted, twisting his torso so that their eyes met. The clarity with which Dean saw that bemused, blissed out expression was exquisite. Cas was beautiful, flushed red, blue irises nearly swallowed by black pupils. “Dean...okay?”

“Yeah,” murmured Dean, grinding slow and gentle against Cas’ ass. “You’re okay, Cas.” His cock was longer, thicker, except where his knot had gone away. “Fuck, this feels good.” He’d been close to catching, knotting, tying them together, but now he could have slid out easily. “Want you so bad.” Could have, but didn’t - he wanted to be close, wanted to be joined, wanted to feel every exquisite twitch, enjoy every slight clench, savor every gorgeous noise Cas whimpered out as it reverberated between their bodies. “Didn’t you realize what smelling that stuff would _do_ to me?”

“No,” Cas sighed. His body undulated beneath Dean, rising up to meet Dean each time he rutted down. “But...but I...hoped…” Dean chuckled. “But...meant…” Dean ground down and Cas broke off with a hoarse groan, rubbing his ass cheeks against Dean’s thigh. “...so good...hard… ‘gain…”

“That’s some stamina,” Dean laughed, breathy. Fumbling down, he slid a hand between Cas’ body and the blankets. Cas was at half-mast, not quite able to get hard again, but definitely aroused. He made the most delicious noises as Dean rubbed at him, rubbed within him.

“...meant...you...are you okay?” managed Cas.

“So much better than okay,” panted Dean. “Every damn day with you…” Each thrust painted his vision red, swirled with the black-and-blue of Cas’ tattoos. “...best day of my life.” Cas squirmed beneath him, moaning, blankets rucking up into his clenched fists. “You close?” Cas nodded frantically.

_...he’s really gonna come again…_

Dean squeezed his eyes shut.

 _..._ I’m _really gonna come again…_

Sensation drove Dean higher and higher; he was heavy against Cas’ back, dick thick in his ass, yet he floated, a cloud of diffuse bliss and blue. Cas was unspeakably real, so present, sweaty and hot, aglow in every sense of the word. Dean felt Cas’ overstimulation like a reflected climax, far too much feeling, never enough feeling, an endless need for more - more solidity, more touch, more contact, more intimacy, more adoration.

Dean had never thought he had so much love in him; he gave all he had to Cas, to the kids, yet always found more, and always received back every iota he extended.

“...close…” he whispered hoarsely, massaging Cas’ dick, struggling to hold himself up, to keep moving. His muscles strained with effort. The bed thumped against the wall. Cas shimmied back, shimmied back, pleaded silently with his body for Dean to keep filling him. “...so close...gonna…”

“...gonna come…” Cas echoed, half question, half agreement. “Gonna come for you...with you…”

“Yeah...yeah, yeah, yeah…” There was no boundary between him and Cas, no skin separating their flesh; they were one amorphous, enraptured being, high on each other’s pleasure, moving together, celebrating together, fucking together, loving together.

“...Dean…”

“Cas!” Dean’s back arched up, driving him into Cas hard and deep. Cas clenched and blue sparked against Dean’s eyelids. “Aw, _fuck_ , Cas!”

Cas’ cried out, cock twitching in Dean’s grip, ass tightening around Dean’s dick, and his pleasure crested, _their_ pleasure crested, a thick stream of come filling Cas, a feeble spurt oozing onto Dean’s fingers. They collapsed against the bed, exhausted, replete, sweaty and gross and gorgeous.

They breathed as one.

They lived as one.

They lay, skin slick against skin, as one. Cas’ hand found Dean’s, laced their fingers together, curled their joined grips over Cas’ belly. Dean’s softening cock slipped from Cas’ ass, a bead of come leaking free, a perfect porn movie money shot that brought Dean a ridiculous feeling of ownership and pride.

 _I_ ruined _Cas Krushnic._

 _Human or skinwalker, bottom or top, he’s_ mine.

The high of their marathon session was euphoric, and it was a long time before they calmed, before their sweat dried and their breathing slowed. The unchanging airflow came to feel cool over his skin; Dean gathered up the soiled blanket and tossed it over their bodies. With time, they’d have to rise, shower, start a load of laundry, spray some Febreze to cover up their scent. With time, they’d have to return to their day-to-day lives, return to reality, pick up Jack and Alex and go for a run and act the adults and plan their next hunt.

But for now, beneath the covers, dark save for the faintest of blue glows emanating from Castiel, it was just the two of them.

The rest of the world fell away.

 _Reality_ fell away.

_...and still...sometimes...I wonder...is any of it real?_

“I used to wonder…” Cas croaked. _...echoing my thoughts? Again? How the hell does he_ do _that?_ Cas paused, swallowed, tried again. “I used to wonder if I’d always be alone. I had friends. I had family. I was cared for...but I wasn’t loved. And how could I be? Most other djinn are scavengers, unwilling to go through the trouble of getting plasma from legitimate sources. Most hunters wouldn’t give me the time of day. Most other monsters...you know. And regular humans...well…”

Blue swirled more brightly, reflecting in Cas’ eyes as he twisted around to face Dean. “I told myself I was ungrateful.” With the blankets pulled over their heads, Cas looked gorgeous, ethereal, unreal. “I had colleagues, people I respected, people who respected me.” Dean was grateful for their still-joined hands grounding him. “I had a purpose, guarding the Hell’s Gate, confronting the many evils drawn to Pontiac.” Reaching out, Dean cupped Cas’ cheek, smeared a twinkling tear over Cas’ prominent cheekbone. “That _should_ have been enough, but it wasn’t. It was never enough.” Cas leaned up, painted a kiss over the pad of Dean’s thumb, broke into a toothy grin.  “...and then I met you.”

“...Cas…” Dean breathed. So many times, Dean had forced himself to speak his fears and insecurities, and Cas had been calm, supportive, confident, strong. Cas communicated well, clear and open with Dean, but he so rarely truly bared himself, and Dean was awed by every word, every confession.

“...I met you, and you were a skinwalker, and you _stayed_ , and I couldn’t keep from glowing, and you _still_ stayed, and I thought...I hoped...I _dared_ to hope…” Cas’ voice was thick with emotion, and Dean swallowed against his own feelings. Cas’ sentiments echoed so much Dean had thought and felt over the years, the isolation, the loneliness, the inability to relate to any other group. “...and when it almost fell apart…you left...” Cas’ eyes squeezed shut and his glow extinguished. Dean closed his eyes and pulled Cas close, wrapping an arm around Cas’ shoulders, tangling their legs together.

“I’m not going anywhere, Cas. This is where I want to be.”

Blue flared anew, casting a silhouette of Cas against Dean’s eyelids.

“I know you’re not,” whispered Cas. “But sometimes I worry...I get scared...and I need the reminder that this has all _happened_ , that it isn’t a dream. I need to feel you for days, need to see your claw marks on my skin, there even when I can’t see you. I’ve had the pheromone bottle for a while - did you know they sell dog breeding supplies on Amazon?” Cas’ chuckle eased the tension, soothed their heightened emotions. Dean opened his eyes and met Cas’ smile with one of his own. “It never felt like the right time. I kept putting off asking you for this. But then I got home today, and the house was so empty, so quiet...I needed the house, and my body, to be filled with you. I needed you to be real, Dean.”

“I’m real, Cas,” Dean murmured, rubbing Cas’ back. Tears smeared against his shoulder as Cas drew closer to him. “What I don’t…” He shook his head.

“What?” Cas’ lips smeared over his skin, muffling his words. “What’s wrong?”

“How are _you_ real?” he whispered. “Is this all a dream?”

“It should be,” Cas replied. “If Gabe showed up tomorrow, shook me awake, told me the rest of our family had finally found me and dragged me home and set out to taught me a lesson...I’d believe it. Our lives...all of this...feels like djinn magic.”

The blue vanished.

“But it’s real, Dean.”

The darkness frightened him.

“...you’re sure?”

“...how can I ever be sure?” Cas’ voice floated around Dean, echoed in his mind, vibrated through his chest. “Philosophers have agonized over the nature of reality for millennia, and I know... _we_ know...better than anyone how subjective, how illusory, how _unreal_ the world is. But...I want this to be real. I _need_ this to be real. And most days, that’s enough.”

“...and when it’s not enough,” Dean breathed, “I have you.”

“I have you,” agreed Cas.

“We have each other.”

“...and when in doubt, fucking you senseless, or letting you fuck me senseless, _really_ helps,” said Cas blandly.

Dean choked on a laugh. “Oh, Cas. Don’t ever change.”

“Do you mean that?”

The skepticism in Cas’ voice brought Dean up short. He swallowed his amusement and thought about it - _really_ thought about it, what it would mean if Cas didn’t change, if Jack and Alex didn’t change, if Dean himself hadn’t changed and didn’t change. The air beneath the blankets grew thick, musty with sex, humid with their breath. Motes of blue floated between them, settled on Dean’s skin, temporary tattoos to mirror Cas’ permanent ones.

“Change every day,” he whispered. Cas nodded, soothed, pleased, gleaming. “Change, and grow, and learn, and _live_ every day....with me...that good, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean. That’s perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope ya'll enjoyed. Thanks for reading my little project.
> 
> Next steps: I've made a pledge to myself, if I could finish this, and Thursday's Angel, and The Private Journals of Castiel and James Novak, I could pursue a DCBB idea I had. So, Thursday's Angel is next on my plate. I'm tentatively thinking I'll try to work through my WIP roughly in reverse chronological order.
> 
> Don't be a strange! @unforth on tumblr, unforth on pillowfort, and in various places on Discord.
> 
> Argh I kept forgetting to post a picture of dog!Dean. Here ya go...  
> 


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